


The Decorum of Warfare

by dattumblrgal



Series: Glory in Our Defiance [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, England (Country), Firenze | Florence, France (Country), Historical, M/M, Renaissance Era, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dattumblrgal/pseuds/dattumblrgal
Summary: "If everyone fought for their own convictions there would be no war."― Leo Tolstoy, War and PeaceAll they ever wanted was to end the war. And they did. Peace was all that England had known for five years until a threat arose. Not in their kingdom but across the channel.Most things start off easy, simple. They trickle in bit by bit so you almost don't even notice until they start to drown you. England is still enjoying peace but her Kings know that now they're knee-deep in bitter water.It has been five years since Zayn and Harry had to unsheath their swords as the Kings of England and defend their Kingdom. Just when they thought they could live out the rest of their reign in peace, with their children never having to experience war, France starts to pose a threat to them. Will they manage to save England? Or will they fall victim to foolish ambitions of lesser men?[Sequel to Glory in Our Defiance]
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Series: Glory in Our Defiance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547707
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the Glory in Our Defiance sequel, hope you enjoy it!

** _ PART TWO _ **

_March 1493, Windsor Castle, England _

It was all fine until it wasn't. Not quite.

Philippa and Cassian were healthy, growing so fast Harry was slowly forgetting the time when they were babies and most importantly, England was peaceful. After that unfortunate bit with Edric and his puny 'rebellion', Harry and Zayn had no enemies left in their kingdom. At least those that hated them enough to take active action. The people loved them, the country was prospering and they slept well at night, knowing that the risk they took by running away and getting married all those years ago when they were young and foolish paid off in the long run.

All they ever wanted was to end the war. And they did. Peace was all that England had known for five years until a threat arose. Not in their kingdom but across the channel.

Most things start off easy, simple. They trickle in bit by bit so you almost don't even notice until they start to drown you. England is still enjoying peace but her Kings know that now they're knee-deep in bitter water.

"Mathieu has joined Pierre's court." That was the once sentence that started it all. The unease that hangs around them like a storm about to break. Not knowing what will happen, what steps to take to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.

Not long after Cassian's birth, Harry and Zayn fixed the line of succession that Mariota must have tempered with. Harry felt the shock from learning about it the first time once the documents were right in front of them. That chill that went down his spine in Bordeaux all those years ago when Zayn told him that Mathieu could end up on the throne if they die without heirs. Then when he continued and told Harry that Melisende was certain about Mariota, her very own sister sleeping with the King during the war and changing it herself. How can they have any idea what she was plotting?

Nevertheless, they corrected the mishap from nearly two decades earlier and moved on with their lives and reign.

Mariota and Mathieu learned about it upon their visit months after Harry and Zayn had removed any chance of Mathieu ever getting on the throne. With the decree, they issued before Cassian was born, even if they hadn't changed the line of succession, if Mariota's schemes had worked, Agnes, Mathieu's older sister would've gotten the throne.

It was clear at the moment that Mariota had been seething but she couldn't do anything. Not without exposing her little secret that wasn't hidden to Melisende at all.

They all thought that was it. Until the news of Mathieu's arrival at the King of France's court came. Melisende's spies and friends from the French court all claimed that Mathieu and Pierre made fast friends and Mathieu was now in the King's closest circle. Two men that held a grudge against Harry and Zayn were now working together. And that's never a good thing. No matter how innocent it looks.

Deep down, they knew it would all only get worse. And did it get fucking dismal.

xxx

"I am incredibly sorry for my tardiness," Harry breathes out when he walks into the small council chamber. "Philippa's teacher wanted a word and I got held up."

He stops walking when he sees that they're not meeting with the whole privy council. "Why was I under the impression we are meeting everyone today?"

"We are not," Melisende replies, get face a blank slate. "Please, take a seat, Harry."

It's only him, Melisende, Zayn, Helen, Frederick and Raphael in the room. No guards in the room and Harry did notice that there was just one guard at the door instead of the usual two. Nevertheless, Harry takes a seat next to Zayn behind the round circular table. There are documents on it, what seems like a map and a couple of letters.

"Now that Harry is here, I believe we may start. I got word from France," Melisende announces and reaches for a few letters on the table, gathering them in her hand. "A couple of words. More than any sane person would have liked. From my Mother, my Sister, my Niece, my unfortunate Nephew, some from my spies and some from very good friends of mine. All of them are saying the same thing."

Melisende stops her speech. Harry isn't sure if it's just for dramatic effect but he looks at her expectantly. She looks especially grim which isn't a thing with his Mother-in-law. Not to mention Zayn doesn't look particularly cheery either.

"So what did they say?" Harry nudges her. "What could have possibly happened in _France_ that everyone is rushing to write to you about it? Did the King die?"

"No," Melisende answers plainly. "Mathieu decided that he will govern the land our family has owned for generations as an independent province in the King's name. Pierre's name."

Harry scoffs. "What? By doing that he will essentially start a new kingdom. It will only take a couple of years until he crowns himself King and tries to expand. How did anyone let him do this?"

"No one let him do anything," Zayn says to Harry's left, speaking for the first time in the meeting. "The land isn't his."

Harry blinks at his husband in confusion. "I know Melisende owns some parts but wasn't your Aunt the person in possession of them since she stayed in France?"

"No," Zayn shakes his head softly, avoiding Harry's gaze. "It's all hers."

Harry slowly turns his head to look at Melisende. Unlike her son, she faces him with the same blank expression from earlier. Harry doesn't know if his head is ridden with confusion or betrayal or a heart-wrenching concoction of both.

"Raphael, could you, please?" Melisende waves her hand at the table.

Promptly, Raphael gets up from his seat and unfurls the map. It shows both France and the southernmost parts of England, ending just a little above London. France is painted in red and blue. Harry stands up too, leaning against the table, his palms on the edge of the polished dark wood. As they all look over the map, Harry very quickly understands what it shows.

"I had this map drawn up by a friend of mine that helps with my journeys after Queen Mother kindly requested a more recent map but modelled after the one that showed her land in France," Raphael explains. "The red shows Her Highness' lands and the blue is what belongs to the French King. If Mathieu were to take over all that land, he would rule a space as big as half of England."

Harry's head starts spinning. If he wasn't already leaning against the table, he's certain he would've fallen over. The wheels in his mind keep turning because he can see what this is. The memories of standing in a room much like this in Warwick Castle, the map of England in front of him and a brood of people discussing strategies around him. It never ends well. Never.

"I shall give the land to you two," Melisende says, making Harry lift his head so fast he sees black for a split second. "You will proclaim it English territory and appoint a governor for it. There is no other way to stop Mathieu."

"You can't do that," Harry breathes out, his pulse quickening. "It will mean war. We will find ourselves at _war_ within days of doing it. If the French cross the channel we are doomed."

"There is no other way, Harry," Melisende says, her voice low. If Harry tries hard enough, he sees a touch of remorse in her eyes. "I wrecked my brain for days trying to find a different solution but there is none. Only this will stop him. He could not do it either way because the land is not his but if we do not take any action, he and Pierre will find a way around it with enough time. We must act before he does."

Harry scoffs, pulling away from the table sharply. "Do you think they care about _documents?_ Will they respect that it is now English land just because _you_ had the Kings of England sign some silly papers? They do not care about that! If we want that land, we will need to fight for it with blood and iron. There is no other way around it."

The room is eerily silent. Harry looks around the table. At Raphael who is trying to act like he isn't even there and that the map on the table didn't come from his hands. At Helen, who is sitting down and shielding her eyes with her hand. At Frederick, who's downing wine like it's water, just to avoid the conversation.

Then Harry turns his sight to his husband. "Did you know about this, Zayn?"

When Zayn takes a deep breath before he goes to speak and looks at Harry with an already apologetic look in his eyes, Harry knows.

"I did, yes," Zayn says eventually. "I'm sorry, I did not want to worry you before we knew what was going on for certain."

"I am your _husband_ and King!" Harry exclaims, turning his body to fully face Zayn. "How can you keep something like that from me? Your Mother owns half the France and I had no clue! I look like a complete imbecile. You are lucky we are not meeting the whole privy council today because I never would have spoken to you again after embarrassing me like that. I can't believe you."

"Harry, I apologise, it was not my intention," Zayn huffs and tries to grab Harry's hand but Harry snatches it away. "Please, love, I knew for only two days or so."

"You should have told me the second you knew," Harry cuts in. "And this cannot happen, I am not supporting a war when we ended one just eight years ago if I can even count that many years considering everything that happened with Lord Warwick and Edric. I cannot let us go to war with France."

"It is already happening," Melisende says, her tone unmoving. "I am giving the land over to you and Zayn no matter what. And what you two do with it is your decision but I have no doubts that not a single Lord or Lady in England will let you do nothing with it. Sometimes war is the only way. I am saying that as someone who has lead a war and was misguided sometimes. I will own up to my mistakes. And I would _never_ give my only son, and you too Harry, bad advice. I could never live with myself if I brought misfortune to the two of you."

"And what if we both die in battle?" Harry challenges her. "What then? What will happen to our children, our kingdom?"

"You won't," Melisende replies plainly. "You two are the greatest warriors England has ever seen. I would not encourage you if I was not certain you would win the war."

"Melisende, you cannot know that for sure," Harry sighs. "Anything can happen. Anything. Something you may have not even dreamed of in your worst nightmares."

"You have found a place in my heart over the years, Harry," Melisende says, her voice suddenly stern. "But do not try to test me. I am giving the land over to you two this week no matter what. Frogs can start falling from the sky and I would still do it. And then, no matter what you do, you will face war. It is your decision on which side of the channel you fight. If you do nothing, the French King will kindly knock on your door right here in Windsor and fight you without mercy. If you do the right thing, you will have the advantage. You will fight away from your home, from your children and keep them safe by doing so. It is all up to you."

With the ominous last words, Melisende simply walks out of the room, leaving everyone stunned.

"Harry," Zayn says right when the door is shut after Melisende. "We have to act. You do not agree but we have a bigger responsibility than to simply avoid war. We are not peacekeepers, we are Kings."

Harry doesn't reply to him, he only stares ahead at the people who are supposed to be his closest friends but are not acting like they are mere flies on the wall. "What do all of you think we should do? Isn't the point of the council to provide council to the sovereign?"

A few looks of discomfort are exchanged before Helen musters up the courage to speak first. "I believe you should try and get this under control as quickly as you can. Even at the cost of using the army. If Mathieu does what he intends to do, it will cause way more than just one war."

"Helen is right," Frederick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "This will not end with whatever Mathieu says he wants right now. He will always want a bit more and more and more until he wakes up one day and he will realise he wants the whole of Europe. You have the chance to stop it."

Raphael adds his bit on last. "Mathieu can be a dormant Nero and no one wants to see Rome burn again."

No sound is in the room for a long while before Harry finally sits down and says, "Leave us."

Once the council chamber is empty, just him and Zayn sitting next to each other but not acknowledging one another's presence, the tension is even worse than before.

"Were you planning on telling me we had to wage a war the day before the first battle or what?" Harry breaks the silence, turning in his chair to look at Zayn. "Is this what we promised each other _twice_ in the eyes of God? Do you not love me anymore?"

"Of course, I love you," Zayn scoffs. "I was only being foolishly hopeful that this situation will not turn out to be what it is. I did not want you to think we were to go to war if we did not end up going. We still don't have to."

Harry's eyebrows nearly disappear in his hairline. "Are you mad? Your Mother basically has the battle plans ready and the letter to Pierre declaring war drawn up already. How can this not turn to war?"

"If we are careful, we could potentially avoid it," Zayn explains, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We will try to bribe Mathieu with a position that sounds better and he will feel like he has power even if we would be pulling the strings behind. Or if that does not work, we will try to negotiate some peace."

"You are stupider than I thought," Harry nods once, fury rummaging through his body. "We are already at war, even if it has not been officially said so. We know it, Pierre knows it, Mathieu knows it, the fucking owls in the Carpathian mountains know it."

Zayn lets out a frustrated breath. "Do you think I _want_ to go to war?"

"It sure as hell fucking seems like!" Harry hollers. "Not _once_ did you oppose to war today. Not a word from you against it. So what else am I supposed to think?!"

"I would never go to war if it was not for the good of our Kingdom in the long run," Zayn says, his eyes proverbially throwing daggers at Harry. "And I do not care if you disagree. I do not care if you hate me. I will always do what is _right_ for the people of England."

"Even if they lose their lives on a battlefield?" Harry tests him. "Even if you could lose everything? Including me?"

"Harry," Zayn lets out a breath. "I have risked everything for you. But I will not risk Pierre and my fucking cousin marching on Windsor and killing us all. Not when it is a very real possibility."

"You talk just like your Mother," Harry scoffs, shaking his head. "You do remember our coronation, right? We both have an equal say in the decisions that are made."

"I remember it very well," Zayn snaps. "But do _you_ remember that if we cannot reach a decision together it will be made by the privy council? And not one person on the privy council will be against this war because they are not blinded by the relentless fight for peace. They know that peace is sometimes achieved through war."

Harry stands up, pushing the chair away furiously. "Is that what you truly believe?!"

"Yes!" Zayn screams back, standing up as well. "I told you moments ago that we could _try_ to avoid war and you called me stupid, without any pretence. That was only my attempt at trying to reach a compromise with you but I know now that I cannot. We will have to go to war, Harry and sooner you accept it the better it is for England because we will get to make the decisions and not the privy council."

"I will never accept that!" Harry yells. "Not as long as there is a peaceful way. We can perhaps try to avoid the war as long as we can by keeping a close eye on the French court and seeing if we can _somehow_ avoid an outright war. Either way, we are not ready for war. We need to stall in order to prepare."

"When is one ever ready for war?" Zayn lets out a pitiful laugh. "War does not fucking care if you're ready."

"No, it does not but we can at least try," Harry says, calmer now. "I will agree to the war as long as we do not rush it. How close is Mathieu to executing his plans?"

"We have some time, theoretically," Zayn sighs and walks to the window. "Maybe a year. Pierre has not given him the absolute yes he needs yet. The letters said that Mathieu still needs to accompany him to a visit to Sweden."

Harry nods. He knocks one of his rings against the rim of the table a few times. "We will find a plan. Anything but war. And that is all I have to say about this."

He turns around and quickly gets to the door, opening it himself since there is no guard inside the room. Harry leaves Zayn there and he departs the room with a strange feeling of emptiness. The uncertainty will start eating away at him soon but until then, Harry will live his life as if nothing happened. He will deal with domestic business as usual, raise his children. He will never let war dictate his life again.

xxx

Things never go according to plan and his years as the King of England should have already taught Harry this. He counted with Melisende giving the French land over to him and Zayn but nothing more. Not quite.

But the word got out about it very quickly. The document was an official one and such a thing could not have been kept private for longer than a few hours. Everyone in Windsor knew by the next morning and the word only spread as the hours went by. As one day turned to another and another and another, the privy council had a thing or twenty to say.

One thing Harry has learned in his time as the King of England, is that you have to listen to your privy council and do what they say _from time to time_, even if you don't agree with it in order to gain and keep their trust and most importantly, loyalty. And that is why he and Zayn have to agree with officially declaring the land an English territory. Harry surely vehemently protests but everyone, _everyone _argues that now that the information isn't a secret and pretty much the whole of Europe knows that the English Kings legally own half of France, there is not much else they can do.

It is almost an act of war. If you look at it from a theoretical standpoint, nothing about it is illicit or in disagreement with the law. Melisende gave her land to her only child and his husband, something that would have happened upon her death no matter what. Then said child, who happens to be a King, simply added it to the land he already owns. If only he wasn't a King...

As they address the court and guests in the throne room of Windsor Castle, their crowns and ceremonial cloaks on, Harry thinks about the fragile belief of a peaceful life from when he stood right in that room with the love of his love by his side, promising that their reign may be peaceful until they take their last breaths.

Now they are nearly declaring war.

Even if they will try to deter it from happening and save the lives of their people that would have been lost on a battlefield, it will only work for some time. It might be a year, it might be five. Harry knows they cannot run from it. No matter how fast they would be.

Eventually, they appoint Zayn's other cousin Agnes as the governor of their new territory. It has always baffled Harry, how she can be Mathieu's sister when she is so intelligent and kind. Perhaps she listened more to Claricia, her Grandmother, than her scheming, conniving Mother. Despite her connection to the two people that have been trying to make Harry and Zayn's reign miserable, they trust her. They knew that they needed someone who has lived in France their whole life, someone who is fully French and has not stepped a foot out of France in years. Agnes will know the people better, she will know the Lords and Ladies who will help her with her duties as her own sort of a privy council. They are planning to send someone from England there, perhaps Raphael or someone else they trust, but for now, she is their best bet at keeping the land safely away from Mathieu's slimy fingers.

Harry and Zayn will have to visit Bordeaux soon, to present themselves to the people as their protectors and not their oppressors. Zayn is half-French for God's sake, how much can the people really hate them? Pierre was not the most loved King in the history of France.

Surely enough, Harry is unhappy with the outcome. He hasn't been really speaking to Melisende, which is depressing because he found a good friend and confidante in her ever since he was forced to carry a child that first time. To add on to that, he has been mostly sleeping in his own quarters that he hasn't used since the night Cassian was born. He can't let just keep acting like nothing happened, like his trust wasn't betrayed.

With a war somewhere in the future, even breathing his harder. Sometimes, Harry feels like he can already hear the deafening clangs of swords in his ears. The floor is often ground muddy with blood and guts. Death lingers in the air. Isn't that precisely it? The decorum of warfare? Death and blood and iron. No mercy. No hope, not this time.


	2. two.

_April 1493, Windsor Castle, England_

"Are you awake?"

Zayn wakes up to the sound of Harry's voice after a long while. It's certainly a surprise, but not as big as when Harry walked into their bedroom last night and started to take off his clothes. Zayn did not think he would ever find it strange that his own husband in their bedroom at night, getting ready for bed.

"Is something wrong?" Zayn asks, turning around in the bed to face Harry. If he's asking, there must be something wrong. Ever since the talks of war first began a month ago with some unfortunate letters, Harry has been cold and distant. He even started sleeping in his own quarters which hurt Zayn more than he would ever admit out loud. 

"Yes and no," Harry says and straddles Zayn's hips. He is wearing nothing but a white nightgown that ends before his knees. "War is coming, apparently, and we might die. It has been advised that we leave one more offspring before we leave for good lying down, feet first. Or before our heads are on spikes"

"What?" Zayn rubs his eye. "Are you serious?"

"Why would I not be?" Harry frowns, an edge to his voice. He works his way through the layers of bedding until he wraps his very cold hand around Zayn's cock. It's safe to say that it makes Zayn immediately shiver and recoil.

"What the fuck are you doing, Harry?" Zayn says through his teeth but he doesn't try to get Harry off of him. God knows it has been weeks since they have _touched_ each other. Even if Harry's being a little shit, this might turn into something good. Eventually.

"I am trying to produce a child," Harry replies coldly. "We already have two, Zayn, have you forgot? Or is all you think about just war? Do you even remember their names? Is the second one a boy or a girl?"

"You have made your point, alright?" Zayn relents. "It is too early for you to be this bitter and spiteful."

"Funny that," Harry remarks, moving his now warmer hand along Zayn's length in order to get him hard. He manages to do so, mostly because it's early in the morning and despite everything, Zayn has missed him_ so fucking much_. "I thought I was being perfectly pleasant."

He then starts to sink down on Zayn's cock with no indication of a warning. Harry must have prepped himself before this because he feels warm and welcoming, completely unlike his outer demeanour. Zayn even starts to enjoy it a little bit, even if Harry won't let him touch him anywhere, each and every time swatting his hands away when Zayn tries to hold his hips or put his hands on his thighs. That is until Harry starts talking again.

"See, this is a proper royal marriage," Harry says, his breath quick as he moves. "Fucking only when it's time to provide an heir. I was foolish enough to think that we would never get here. That we would be in love like when we were eighteen for the rest of our lives. But that is impossible, isn't it?"

"Harry, stop, please," Zayn says and he can already feel himself getting softer with each word that leaves Harry's mouth. "You know it isn't true. You know that we're still in love. No matter what."

"We are not who we used to be, Zayn," Harry chuckles coldly. "I learned that the hard way last month. But this is meant to be forever, isn't it? We swore so in front of God two times, after all. We better get used to it."

That's the last straw for Zayn and even Harry's heat cannot keep him turned on enough to hold on until they both come.

Harry stops moving, his hands on Zayn's chest for a brief moment before he gets up. Zayn throws his arm over his face, breathing out heavily.

"Fucking hell," Harry mutters, climbing out of the bed and letting his nightgown fall back nearly to his knees before he pads away along the wooden floor to the bathroom. 

Zayn watches Harry leave, staring at his tall figure covered only by a thin, white nightgown. He wonders how it could've all gone so wrong. He knows every single curve of Harry's body, even if now he could only see his legs properly. The strong thighs that Zayn loved to grab as Harry rode him, a universe away from that caricature of today. As Harry was walking away, Zayn's eyes fell on his muscular calves and he couldn't keep the memory of kissing them as he often had Harry's leg propped up on his shoulder as they fucked, not even that long ago.

Zayn never thought that their Kingdom and reign would come between them, between their marriage. Their reign came from their love after all. If they hadn't fallen in love, God knows what could've been of England now. They very well could have been dead, or at least one of them. There is no way that the war would have ended without one of them six feet below the ground. Perhaps they would've been still alive, each of them married to someone else with a brood of children and new battles to fight every few months.

The cruelty that Harry deliberately threw into Zayn's face was agonizing. Yes, Harry could be cruel and cold but never to Zayn. Even if they fought, he was never cruel and he never once used fucking again him in this way. Their love was enough to squash down the urge to be bitter, to be angry and spiteful, and instead talk their problems out with understanding and kindness. Even if they screamed sometimes, about stupid things that didn't always matter, their voiced always lowered again and they said sorry and sealed it with a kiss or twenty.

They need to fix this mess somehow. The war is breathing down their necks and they can't win it like this. Not unless they win the war between themselves first.

xxx

As a monarch, as King serving your country, you need to make yourself available. To the court, to regular people. Privacy is hard to come by and if you try to make yourself scarce, hiding away in remote castles and your own chambers, people will start to gossip more than they already do. In order to combat all this, you simply have to spend time with your people willingly.

Zayn never liked the court lifestyle, felt like it was too invasive and he could never truly just exist without any pretence. When he moved to Skipton after his Father's death, it was a little bit better. The main court was still in Windsor where his Uncle John was formally ruling the country, even though everyone knew Melisende was pulling the strings. Now John enjoys a bit of well-deserved peace and quiet in the country with his wife and children.

In order to combat with the gossip and disdain from courtiers, Zayn and Harry decided to allocate certain about of time each week to socialize with them. Sometimes they have plays, sometimes dinners with the court jester entertaining, sometimes it's music. But every Wednesday, they spend a few hours in the main hall with any courtiers that want to join. At first glance, it's a casual affair where everyone has small talks and drinks tea and wine and eats pastries. Children are often present, running around playing tag or sitting on one of the many carpets with their toys. But the purpose that it usually serves is to give everyone an opportunity to get to the Kings in a generally informal setting. Everyone wants to ask for favours. It's only better for the two of them when they control its stream.

This week it's harder because Zayn and Harry aren't really talking. After that stunt Harry pulled in their bed a few weeks ago, it has only gotten more awkward. That morning, Harry left their bedroom fully dressed, ready to start his day and he hasn't returned since. Now they sit on the same sofa, not too close yet not too far so the court thinks everything is alright between them. But they all know very well that nothing is truly fine because Harry has been sleeping in his own chambers. He used the quarters only around the time of their children's birth so there's not blood and heaps of people in _their_ quarters. It's not a place he frequents and everyone noticed. Servants see everything and they surely talk and gossip moves through the castle faster than anything.

On the two sofas nearest to them is Lord Hastings and his wife, a relatively new addition to their court. They're a young couple, which Zayn and Harry always welcome because they're trying to get more young minds into the court. Of course, there are people who don't always agree with them and don't really like them that much and those tend to be from the older generations. They can't kick them all out because then they would start a revolution or something but still, the attempt to drop the average age of courtiers is very much alive.

On the next one is Helen with her lover, Eliza. She's Scottish, quite young and has luminous ginger hair. Helen met her during one of her trips to Scotland in recent years. She's been acting as kind of an ambassador to Scotland because they haven't got anyone there on the court, except for a few people who married into Scotland and now live at court there.

Coincidentally, Juliana now lives in Scotland too. After Lord Warwick's treason and his execution, she was never quite the same. The guilt was eating away at her and Zayn knows that Harry tried to make her stay in England at least, mostly because he was worried about her, but she insisted she'd be better of in Scotland with her cousin, living in the countryside. She loved Philippa and Cassian but there was this forlorn, heartwrenching look on her face sometimes as she watched them play or held them. It's no secret that she still blamed herself for everything that Warwick did. Juliana often visited their first child's tomb in the chapel, mostly late at night. Then when Cassian was a few months old, she left for Scotland.

"When are you going back to Scotland?" Harry asks Eliza, reaching for the tea on the table.

"Oh, quite soon, Your Grace," Eliza says. She seems to have an ever-present blush on her face when she's casually around them. It's also incredibly strange to her that Helen always refers to them by their first names. Both Zayn and Harry have told her a hundred times to drop the official titles but she still hasn't grown quite comfortable to do it. "Probably next month, I believe."

"We're going to visit Eliza's family," Helen says further. "They have a fairly new castle near Edinburgh. I haven't been there yet."

"Are you planning to get married soon?" Harry wonders and at that point, Zayn just zones out. He had almost this same exact conversation with Helen at least two times. She wants to, but she doesn't want to push Eliza into anything because of their age difference. As if there aren't men in their fifties marrying fourteen-year-old girls. Helen is scarcely forty and Eliza is nearing her thirties. And everyone who takes a good look at them knows that Eliza is absolutely smitten with Helen.

Zayn doesn't really care for a superficial conversation with Lord Hastings and his wife, who seem quite interested in each other either way so he watches as Philippa and Cassian play near the unlit fireplace to their right. They're growing so fast, it's absolutely insane to watch. He remembers that day when he got back from the battlefield, not even an hour after he had killed Edric, to find Harry holding Philippa in his arms. That was more than five years ago now and Philippa is no longer than squirmy baby fascinated with the world. The fascination has stayed but she develops it not through running around in the gardens chasing Possie and examining rocks but by learning from large, thick books with the best teachers in all of England. One day she will be Queen and she needs to be ready to lead a Kingdom.

Cassian is not a baby now either. He's a real boy and he can run and talk and he's quite a personality already. They both can't really pinpoint where that spark is coming from but Harry thinks he has the fierceness of Claricia. When he was a baby, he was cuddly and soft but the second the learned how to run, all of that just dissipated into thin air and now they're lucky if he lets them kiss him once.

The room stops in their tracks as Philippa starts screaming because Cassian started pulling on her hair. It seems like they're fighting over a toy of some kind. Maybe a wooden horse.

"Cassian, let your Sister go," Zayn says, feeling the eyes of the courtiers all turning to him and Harry. "Do not be mean to her. You have more than enough toys."

Cassian looks at Zayn, deliberating for a second before he hits Philippa on the head with the horse.

"Cassian!" Zayn calls out and stands up from the couch, walking towards them. He can hear Harry sigh and just _feel_ him walking right behind him. After all those years together, they can sense one another's presence. They know how the rhythm of their breaths, their hearts.

Philippa is no pushover and after the hit from Cassian, she fights back with just as much vigour. She very loudly smacks him over the face, the sound heard too clearly in the large room. They start hitting each other quite intensely until Zayn and Harry intervene.

Zayn picks up Philippa just as Harry pulls Cassian away from her. He won't let Harry pick him up but Harry holds him in place.

"Why did you do that to your Sister?" Harry scolds him. "Is that what you should do when you're playing and you want the toy she has? What did I say the other day, Cassian? Did you ask nicely?"

Cassian's dark curls fall into his face, hiding it from sight. Zayn knows he's not crying but neither is Philippa, even if he can see the small scratch on her forehead that is starting to bleed. He's whispered to her, asking if she's fine but she just nodded and kept giving Cassian ugly looks.

"Cassian, I am speaking to you," Harry says sternly, holding onto Cassian's forearm. "Apologise to Philippa, please. You weren't very kind to her. You hurt her."

Instead of an apology, Cassian kicks Harry's shin and runs out of the room. His nanny bolts after him as Harry's left stunned, standing in the same spot.

Their eyes meet as Harry looks back up and Zayn can see the shock, the embarrassment. Before Zayn can say anything to him, Harry schools his expression, pursing his lips. He then turns to the courtiers and with his signature smile, apologises for their children's little row.

xxx

If there are no other pressing matters, Zayn starts his day by opening and reading the correspondence in his study. Usually, he and Harry tend to do it together but since their fight last month, they've been doing it each on their own. It is sincerely just tedious because most letters are addressed to both of them and then they have to brief each other about it, with cold aloofness, before meetings with the Privy Council.

Today, in a stack full of boring letters from Lords and Ladies from all over England and invitations to all sorts of things that they rarely end up attending, there's one letter that stands out. One look is enough to find out that the seal was pressed with the French royal signet.

Zayn's heartbeat picks up as he carefully peels it open. If he could, he would burn it right away but inside of it, written in ink is the future of his Kingdom.

_Dear Cousin,_

_I write to you out of the goodness of my heart and soul. King Pierre did not see this act of kindness as beneficial for_ _ our cause but I believe words have as much power as swords do, if not more._

_You are well aware of my plans to govern our family's French lands independently to France in King Pierre's name. It has come to my attention that my dear Aunt and your Mother signed over the deed to you and your husband. Apparently, you two are now the ruler of that land. No matter what you do, it is French and it will always remain French._

_I come with an offer. An offer of peace since I hear that you all over in England are very keen on it. Give that land back to our family, to the hands where it belongs. You are not French, cousin. You are the King of England and you have no business governing our land. I understand that according to the common laws of ownership, the land is yours and you may do whatever you want with it but that would ruin its people._

_How do you expect me to sit idly by and watch as our people slowly become English too and forgo our French traditions? The language in the region will be lost. The economy will suffer. People will lose everything._

_My offer is as it stands: give the land back willingly and avoid war. No further bargaining. It is final._

_If you do not accept my offer, you shall have war._

_Sincerely,_

_Your loving Cousin Mathieu_

Zayn sinks in his chair as he lets the letter fall out of his hand back onto the table. He's not surprised. He truly isn't. Perhaps the offer itself is surprising. The fact that Mathieu didn't just simply announce the war to him wasn't completely expected. But Zayn knew they would go to war. Now, they have the chance to declare it first and have the upper hand.

The first thing that comes into his mind once he absorbs the words of the letter properly, is Harry. He has to find him and tell him. So he does.

Zayn leaves all the other letters on his desk, quickly moving through the chilly corridors of Windsor castle until he reaches Harry's quarters. He spots the guards standing in front of the door to the study so it's clear that Harry is doing the same thing Zayn was moments ago. Without even knocking, Zayn opens the door himself, ignoring the guards scrambling to open it for him.

Harry lifts his head up at the commotion, a flash of annoyance on his handsome features. "What do you want? Is it so pressing that you burst into my study like a brute?"

"Mathieu wrote to me," Zayn says plainly, seeing no point in walking around it. He gives the letter to Harry, who looks at it with concern. A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows as he reads the first like. "We have to declare war."

Harry shoots Zayn a look full of confusion before he continues reading the letter. It takes a couple of shorts minutes before Harry's breath hitches. He puts the letter down with a shaky hand and looks at Zayn.

"What do we do now?" Harry asks, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Do you think we should negotiate."

"Fuck no," Zayn scoffs and takes a seat in the chair opposite Harry's desk. "Mathieu's ambition knows no end. His Mother changed the fucking line of the succession and tried to get him on the English throne. Now that he has the opportunity to eventually start his own Kingdom, he won't back down so easily. He will do everything that he can in order to control the war, win it and then fuck Pierre over so he can rule on his own.

"No, what we have to do is declare war. As soon as we can. We go to France, defeat them and reinstate peace again. _If we ever gave_ Mathieu the land, he would _never_ create an alliance with us. Never. We would only lose the land and make our enemy stronger. We can't do it, Harry. I know we said that we would never wage another war but this is inevitable. If we don't do it, we will find ourself running for our lives in some years when Mathieu has his own Kingdom. We have a chance to get a headstart now."

Harry scoffs, putting his hand on his forehead. "Headstart? I will take _months_ just to convene the army. Another month to get to France. Mathieu and Pierre must be ready for war now. They wanted this. They were expecting it."

"We were too," Zayn says, his voice quiet. "Lord Dudley has mobilized the army in the past month, since the talks of the war first started. Don't get angry again, alright? I promised we'd try to find a way but there isn't one that doesn't include war. Let's just be grateful that our military commander has the foresight to think about certain details that we forgot about."

Harry nods, deep in thought. He doesn't look as angry as he did during their fight last month which Zayn truly considers a miracle.

"Alright, so we need to call a Privy Council meeting for today," Harry breathes out heavily and leans against the back of his chair. "Have all our bannermen pledged their men for the war already?"

"We have to ask Lord Dudley," Zayn says quickly, trying to hide the shock that Harry is not yelling at the top of his lungs right now about the war. "But I do think that almost everyone has. It's no secret that the war imminent."

"We can't let them cross the Channel," Harry stresses, his eyes determined. "If they come to England, we're fucked. We need to leave soon. As soon as it's possible and we have to go through Brittany. It has been English for longer than any of us have lived. Mathieu and Pierre will probably expect us to land in Calais since it's the closest but we can't do it. If they indeed have their army ready to go, it will be there. Therefore, we need to enter France through Brittany."

Zayn nods. "Certainly. But we can't deplete the treasury. I've already drafted a letter a few days ago for Lorenzo de'Medici, for his bank. We should take a loan from them in order to keep England in a good place. After the war, we won't find ourselves with an empty treasury. If everything goes well, we will be able to pay it back immediately thanks to income from the land in France."

"That isn't a bad idea," Harry agrees. "After the war here, we can't risk leaving the Kingdom without enough to keep it running and moving forward. Should I tell the messengers about the Privy Council meeting or will you do it?"

"I can go now," Zayn says, already standing up. "The sooner, the better. We need to have it today."

"Zayn?"

Harry's voice stops him. He leaves a hand on the back of his chair as he looks at Harry expectantly.

"What is it?"

Harry's expression is eerily grim. "Do not think I support the idea of war now. I hate every second of this mess. But I am not stupid. I know that this situation is hopeless. All I can do now is try to win this war so we can have peace again. I never wanted to be in such predicament after the war we ended together. Now we are starting one and I feel like I have cheated, like I have lied about everything that we wanted to give our Kingdom with our marriage. And now, even we are falling apart. We can't let England fall apart too."

"I never wanted us to fall apart, Harry," Zayn says, looking Harry straight into the eye. "Never."

Harry just blinks at him, before looking down at the letters at his desk again, coldly and effectively ending the conversation. Zayn leaves the room without another word, a sour taste left in his mouth.

xxx

Just before the end of April rolls around, it is time for them to leave England and sail to France. To fight for peace, to fight for the future of their dynasty. It isn't easy, mounting a horse and leaving their children and family behind.

Philippa and Cassian are near the castle's towering doors with Melisende, waiting to wave them off. Zayn dreads saying goodbye to them. He fears he will never see them again, won't see them grow up and be smart and wonderful and just the best version of themselves they could possibly be. They're not wearing armour, not yet. Not when they have a long journey ahead of them. So they can properly say goodbye and cuddle their babies without the hard metal being in the way.

Zayn will miss them so much his heart could burst, he can't even imagine how much harder this has to be for Harry. He gave birth to both of them and he's always said that it's a strange connection that will never disappear. When Philippa was just a few days old, Zayn remembers Harry saying, in a half-asleep haze, that it's so strange seeing, what is essentially his own flesh and blood become its own human.

Cassian comes to Zayn first and says a quick "I will miss you, Papa," before giving him a kiss on the cheek and begging to be put down again. Zayn assumes he does the same with Harry but Philippa is more attentive.

"Papa, est-ce que tu dois y aller?" she asks. 

_Papa, do you have to go?_

Cassian still hasn't quite got the grasp on both languages, his words slip between English and French sometimes but Philippa navigates them quite well.

"Je fais, mon coeur. Mais je serai bientôt de retour. Tu ne dois pas t'inquiéter. Ne vous battez pas avec Cassian alors que mon père et moi sommes partis, d'accord?" Zayn asks and Philippa nods, her eyes starting to swell up with tears.

_I do, sweetheart. But I will be back soon. You do not have to worry. Do not fight with Cassian while Father and I are gone, alright?_

Zayn hugs Philippa tightly and kisses her so many times she starts to giggle. It physically _hurts_ putting her down but he has to. He whispers "I love you" to her before setting her down on the stone floor.

As they try to leave and go to their horses, Philippa runs after them, now fully crying.

"Father, do not go, please," she cries, clinging onto Harry's leg. "War is bad and I do not want you to go away."

Harry picks her up, shushing her as he gently bounces her as if she was still a baby. He's holding her against his chest and he looks over he shoulder, his eyes digging into Zayn's.

There's the anger again, the fury that they have to leave their children behind and risk their lives for a cause that isn't what they wanted their reign to be about. Zayn _gets it_, alright? He doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to leave their young children alone in England but they are Kings first and then they're everything else. Fathers, husbands, sons, friends. They have to make these sacrifices because if they don't make them, thousands of children all around England will be crying just as Philippa and Cassian are but not because their parents are leaving, No, they will cry because they're dead.

Cassian comes to Zayn and _asks_ to be held, which isn't something he does these days and it nearly makes Zayn cry. He holds him as Cassian sobs quietly, whispering to him that everything will be alright.

They knew that being a King isn't easy but nothing could've prepared them for the pain of leaving their children behind. Still, they have a duty. They swore an oath in front of God. They promised to protect their people, to govern them and to serve them. Nothing is ever perfect and their lives aren't an exception from this. They're Kings and they have to protect their Kingdom. The fight for England that got them here included them from the moment they were born until they ended it, with another fight, not even a decade ago. If they ever want peace and to see England prosper, they have to wage this war. Otherwise, all that pain and effort they've already put in for their Kingdom would've been in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!! Well, we have a war here! It's gonna be pretty intense and I'm not a military strategist so it's gonna be a challenge to write but I'm really excited. Zarry have some... not so fun times but very interesting times ahead of them.
> 
> Please leave some feedback, it means the world to me and let me know if you've been enjoying this so far. Thank you for reading, see you soon :)


	3. three.

_May 1493, somewhere near Thouars, Brittany, France_

War is never easy. Rarely is it quick. Getting together an army takes weeks alone, not to mention the journey to a different country, a different territory where the battle is to take place. It drags on and on and on until you lose track of time and all becomes one unhinged mess. Death loses its poignancy. All you think about is coming out on the other end alive. That's it.

Zayn never wanted to step a foot into a battlefield ever again. Once he and Harry ended the war back home, he _believed_ that was it. Even with the small bump in the road in the form of Edric, Zayn thought he was done fighting for good. Right now, he would rather sit in the drawing room of their chambers with Harry and the kids and not wander around a poorly lit war camp.

It's not much different from the Battle of Bosworth. Rows and rows of tents, interrupted by kennels for the horses and animals and fire pits with soldiers sitting around them, drinking shit wine and having a bit of a laugh before they have to face death. At night, like now, there are torches lit along the pathways between tents to illuminate the way, to make it easier for the soldiers on the lookout to spot any enemies possibly lurking around.

The last time Zayn was in a camp like this was at Bosworth, when he was eighteen. He was barely a man, still mostly a boy, raised in the midst of war, trained to kill his enemy on sight. Yet he didn't do anything he was expected to. He didn't murder his enemy - he fell in love with him.

Before the battle, Zayn was mostly calm. He knew what would happen. He and Harry planned the whole charade with ending the battle without properly fighting one another. The question about the sincerity of Harry's words did arise a few times but it quickly went away. The battle was essentially pointless and lives were lost in vain just because Melisende and Lord Warwick were so hell-bent on fighting it out. Despite that, Zayn knew what would come after it. He'd run away, meet up with Harry and they would get married. Now there is no clue what is to happen after they come head-on with Mathieu and Pierre.

On the way back to his own tent, Zayn stops a few times to talk to the soldiers, encourage them a little bit. Most of them are whinging about the war, how stupid it was to declare it when there was peace back home. That Zayn and Harry should've left the French to fight it out between themselves. Zayn's heard it many times today but he won't correct the men. It seems like it now but England would've been arming up for a war sooner than later if they did nothing. They're starting it with the upper hand and the chance to control the war's course.

Even back in Bosworth, Zayn spent a bit of time with the soldiers before fighting. There are thousands of them so he couldn't meet every single one but he learned that if the men who are risking and giving their lives for you know that you care at least a little bit as King, that you will be there on the same battlefield as them, they will hate you less. A camaraderie, fragile but there, appears in those short moments and perhaps most of the soldiers will think - "Well, the King isn't a complete cunt blinded by ambition, is he?".

It's getting late as Zayn leaves the last group of soldiers, who were sitting around a bonfire not that far from his tent. However, his footsteps don't lead there. Instead, Zayn recklessly and perhaps a bit foolishly walks a bit further until he reaches Harry's tent. It's the night before the battle and perhaps Zayn is feeling a little desperate, a little brave too. They're fighting two wars now - one with France and one with each other. The second one needs to go before they mount their horses and charge ahead with the army.

They need each other. It's as simple as that. Zayn has been _aching_ to touch Harry all this time but all he's found in the man he loves more than life itself is coldness and indifference and it fucking _hurts_. This is not who they are. With the threat of death lingering in the air at all times, Zayn can't let them possibly go to their graves without reconciliation. If he is to die tomorrow on the battlefield, he's sure he will burn in hell if he doesn't at least _try_ to make things right.

Since there is no door for Zayn to knock on, he waits around the tent's entrance, stepping from foot to foot like a child wary to admit to something they did. It's insanity that they're even sleeping in different tents but it has been the norm for almost two months now. Zayn never thought he could miss having a warm body to hold onto at night until Harry was routinely sleeping in a different wing of the castle.

Once the guards stationed around the tent start giving Zayn strange and judgemental looks, he takes a deep breath and steps inside. Harry doesn't notice him right away. He's sitting on the low bed covered in furs, going over letters and maps. 

"Harry?"

Then Harry finally lifts his head from the parchments, looking at Zayn as if he was an intruder from the enemy's army and now his own husband.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asks, voice flat. "We have discussed the strategy with the generals, there is nothing left for us to talk about." 

"I did not want to talk about the battle," Zayn explains, not daring to come closer to the bed. "I wanted to apologise."

Harry takes a short, sharp breath that lodges in his throat. Not quite as if he wanted to say something but Zayn's words visibly took him by surprise. Only then Zayn dares to come closer to the bed.

"Can I?" Zayn asks, motioning to the bed.

Harry only nods and quickly shuffles the documents around into one, messy pile. Zayn sits down on the edge of the low bed, still keeping at least a foot of space between them. Everything in his body is screaming against this but there is nothing to be done, yet.

"We are going to fight tomorrow," Zayn states the painfully obvious fact. "We will be on a battlefield again and I was thinking. Not only about the very real chance, we might die and I would rather die right now than tomorrow if we are to stay as cold with each other as we are. Every single time you look at me I feel like as if I had been thrown into a winter river and left for dead. But we have to command an army as well. Together. And you know it, Harry, you know just as well as I do that we are stronger together. England is stronger if there is no war between the two of us.

"That is why I came here tonight. I came to apologise for betraying your trust. I was not trying to hurt you, hurt us by doing so. Upon learning about what Mathieu had planned, I didn't really believe it at first so why would I worry you with it when there was no certainty? I regret it so much. I will never keep anything from you again and if you don't love me anymore, that is your decision, I can't take your heart and shape it how I like. But please, remove this stone wall between us because we cannot win the war like this. We can't. And we need to. We promised England peace and we shall deliver it at the end of this war but we need to win it first."

Harry watches Zayn for a while, his head cocked before he leans back a little, licking his lips before chucking wetly. He rubs the tip of his nose with his knuckle, looking somewhere to the side. Then he looks back at Zayn and in the very second, Zayn's heart drops to the depths of the Earth. Harry's expression is softer than when Zayn came in but he still is hiding behind the walls he puts around when he wants no one to see him even if there are thousands of eyes on him.

"I wanted for our marriage to bring peace to the Kingdom," Harry says, his voice soft and measured. "Not another war. There was never supposed to be a war."

"I know," Zayn nods dully. "I didn't want war either but there was no other way. This is the best possible option we had."

"I'm aware," Harry lets out a breath. "And I'm not angry with you anymore. I haven't been for a while."

Zayn blinks slowly, struggling to find his breath. "What?"

"I have been furious with the war," Harry clarifies, shaking his head a little. "I'm seething that our people have to lay their lives down for another war. As if decades of conflict weren't enough. We promised England peace in the same exact moment when we promised to love and cherish one another forever. We _declared_ war, not even ten years after our reign began. I know a war would've been inevitable but the people don't."

Zayn thinks back to the words he's heard over and over again from drunk soldiers. The people wouldn't understand. The convoluted and complicated politics should and are kept behind the walls of castles and the people shouldn't worry about it. With this war, Zayn and Harry are protecting England but the people may never know. On the outside, this looks like their greed to expand their empire, not a rushed effort to keep a deranged ruler from terrorizing Europe for years on end.

"I just want to be a good King," Harry continues, his shoulders slumped. "I don't want to be remembered as the fool who tried to take over France. We were meant to be known for peace, not a foolish war."

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Zayn sighs. "As long as England is safe, who gives a fuck about what they will say about us in four centuries?"

"I don't want the country to hate us," Harry insists. "I don't want the _Lords_ to hate us. Imagine that we die in this war. Both of us. What will happen to Philippa? Do you think she will get to keep her throne? We died and wasted the Lords' gold and troops. The richest of them will grab the throne right from underneath her and chuck her in the Tower of London."

"That won't happen," Zayn tries to scoff but he isn't confident enough to disregard some very real scenarios.

"It probably won't," Harry relents. "But do we know that yet? No."

Neither of them dares to say anything more. Not when the lives of their children are involved. The silence that falls over the tent settles on their skin like cold, acidic rain and eats away at their flesh.

"I know I was wrong to push you away," Harry divulges later, his eyes honest and sharp. "I was mad at you, so pissed off I could've punched you. But that was just for a little while. I'm scared, really. I'm scared about what will happen, if we win or not, what will happen to England if we don't. I'm scared I will never hold my children again. I'm scared that I will lose you. I'm scared that our Kingdom will hate us if we fail and survive. But I know that I will be less scared when I go into battle with you by my side."

Zayn does something brave then, a thing that was a certainty not that long ago - he reaches across the bed and holds Harry's hand. When their skin touches, Harry lets out a gentle laugh, one tinged with surprise. And Harry gives into it. He squeezes Zayn's hand so hard it nearly hurts but nothing has ever felt better.

"I love you so fucking much," Zayn smiles at him. "It hurts my bones when I can't touch you. And I get it, love. I do not hold it against you. This is probably the most difficult thing we will face during our reign. I can hardly sleep these days because I'm scared too. I wonder how our children are doing and then I think about them and I'm certain they're asking my Mother every day when we're coming home. On top of all that, I missed you."

"You don't have to keep missing me," Harry says, his voice just above a whisper. He scoots closer to Zayn on the bed, their hands still locked between them. "I'm right here and I will never let this happen again. I won't take things out on you. I love you _so_ bloody much that I can hardly breathe when I'm not around you. I'm sorry I ever let you think otherwise."

Zayn gently shakes his head as his free hand comes up to hold Harry's cheek. They're millimetres away now, their foreheads nearly touching. "It doesn't matter. We can't turn back time. I'm not upset."

"Alright," Harry nods quickly, leaning his forehead against Zayn's. "Will you stay here tonight?"

"Of course," Zayn says without hesitation. "I don't think I would have survived another night without you next to me."

Harry laughs and leans his head to the side, finally connecting their lips after weeks and more excruciating weeks of no contact between them. It's a short kiss, boyish and gentle, as if they were exploring uncharted territory and not kissing for perhaps the millionth time.

"Have we ever gone so long without kissing?" Harry laughs softly when they pull away, still close to one another. Zayn can feel his warm breath on his skin.

"When we first met," Zayn replies. "That was even longer, I believe. But ever since then, I don't believe so. However, I went on that visit to Wales with Helen about a month before Cassian was born."

"Well, that wasn't this long," Harry muses. "No matter how long it was, I don't want it to happen again. It was torture. Can you kiss me again? I'm a parched man in the desert."

Zayn laughs but how could he say no to that request?

xxx

Morning rolls around slowly. The camp starts to wake up early to prepare for the battle, right when the sun begins to break in. As the fog lifts and sun shines more, the volume of the camp rises as more and more people walk around, going about their duties. Everyone wakes up with that one same thought - _I might have woken up for the last time_.

Zayn and Harry didn't fuck last night. They kissed for hours, held onto each other so tight, as if they were scared the other would float away if they let go. But they're both warriors. Neither of them can get on a battlefield limping because of cock. Everything can wait. As long as they survive today, it can all wait.

The servants who come to attend them are a bit wide-eyed at first that they ended up sleeping in the same tent and aren't screaming at each other. But these squabbles don't matter now. Not when there is a war to be fought.

"I'm kind of worried I forgot how to fight," Harry tries to chuckle as the servants put on their armour in the tent.

"Why?" Zayn asks. "You have been training more than enough."

"I know," Harry sighs. "But I haven't been on a battlefield since Bosworth and that feels like a lifetime ago now. Not only that but I have brought two healthy children into the world. It takes its toll on one's body."

"Oh, stop it, love," Zayn scoffs, dismissing the servants who hand him his gloves, bow and scurry out of the tent. "You have a body like those statues the Medicis had in Florence."

"Perhaps," Harry drawls as he fiddles with the sleeve of his armour. "But I should have trained on horseback more, though. If I fall off, I'm dead. And if I stay on the ground, it's too big of a risk. With this armour, if I fall over into the mud it's over."

"Stop worrying so much," Zayn says, walking to Harry across the tent. He grabs his hands and gives them an encouraging squeeze. "You were leading an army when you were still mostly a boy. We're the Kings, we don't have to fight if we don't want to. We have great generals who can lead the army to a successful ending."

"I don't trust anyone, frankly," Harry chuckles sadly. "If they fuck up, we lose our Kingdom. At least if we fuck up then we're fucking it up for ourselves and not for other people."

Suddenly the tent flap opens and a squire appears there. "Your Graces, I deeply apologize for the disruption but there is someone that requires your immediate attention."

Zayn and Harry exchange a look, sharing the confusion and mild panic. Zayn lets go of Harry's hands and starts walking outside of the tent, following the nervous squire. There's no one right outside the tent, except for the guards but then Zayn hears horses.

Down the path between tents, there are five horses with riders. Two of them carrying the banners of the French King. On the horse riding in the front sits Mathieu, shining armour with the King's emblem on the chest plate covering his body.

When he sees Zayn, he gets off of his horse and meets him with a grin. "Bonjour, cousin."

"Es-tu venu pour te rendre?" Zayn asks, not taking a step closer to him. He doesn't have to since Mathieu comes within a few feet of him.

_Have you come to surrender? _

"Jamais dans vos rêves les plus fous," Mathieu snickers. "Je suis venu pour vous faire une offre qui sauvera la vie de vos hommes."

_Never in your wildest dreams. I have come to make you an offer that will save the lives of your men. _

"Vous et vos offres," Zayn snorts. "Laissez-nous l'entendre. Quelle folie vous est venue maintenant?"

_You and your offers. Let us hear it. What madness has come to you now?_

"Nous allons nous battre maintenant. Juste toi et moi. Celui qui gagne obtient le pays que vous avez volé au roi Pierre," Mathieu says, acting like he has the upper hand here. They sent our riders yesterday, they knows very well that Pierre doesn't have the kind of an army that England has.

_We will fight right now. Just me and you. Whoever wins gets the land you stole from King Pierre._

"Vous êtes fou," Zayn shakes his head. "En outre, cette terre n'a jamais été sienne. Et ce ne sera jamais à vous, Mathieu. Vous ne l'obtiendrez jamais, même sur mon cadavre."

_You are insane. Besides, that land was never his. And it will never be yours, Mathieu. You will never get it, even over my dead body. _

Mathieu stares at Zayn for a long while, his blue eyes focused and cold. Did he really think Zayn would agree to this? A one on one fight? They're not having a duel for some girl they both wanted to fuck, this is the fate of the two greatest Kingdoms in Europe. Only a fool would let a single fight between two men decide it. Knowing Mathieu, Zayn is certain he would fight dirty. If Mathieu was an honorable man, he might've considered the offer because saving the lives that will be inevitably lost would be good but this is a farce. Nothing but a plot to get the land because Mathieu and Pierre know they have an enormous chance to lose today.

"Très bien alors. Vous ne voulez pas prendre une décision intelligente. Je ne peux pas dire que je suis surpris," Mathieu shrugs as best as his armour allows him. He leisurely walks to his horse, mounting it quickly. "Je suppose que je vous verrai sur le champ de bataille plus tard aujourd'hui. Profitez de votre salope frauduleuse pendant que vous le pouvez. À plus tard, cousin."

_Alright then. You do not want to make a smart decision. I can't say that I am surprised. I guess I will see you on the battlefield later today. Enjoy that fraudulent slut of yours while you can. See you later, cousin._

Mathieu then gallops away from the camp with the four men that came with him. It's deadly silent as he leaves, everyone watching the back of their horses as they get further and further into the distance.

The battle is imminent. Inevitable. Waiting for them with its talons, ready to claim lives. God save them all.

xxx

When Zayn gets onto the battlefield, the battle is already well underway. It had looked pretty equal opportunity but Mathieu didn't know their strategy. He didn't know a good chunk of their army wasn't coming in on the first wave but instead they were waiting until Mathieu got a little too cocky. They wanted him to think he would win, with not much effort.

The sound of swords hitting each other, of screams of pain and instruction, of the sounds of horses stepping on corpses - that is the sound of war. It's the most unpleasant sound in the world but they all have to suffer through the miserable song if they want to come out victorious.

As seconds, minutes, hours pass, the ground becomes muddy. Not with water but with blood. Horses are burying their hooves into it as the move their riders from one spot to another. This clearing will never be the same again. So many lives have been lost already.

It might have been an eternity before Zayn starts to see more of their own banners on the field. Red takes over blue, but there's still enough of them. He knows for a fact that Mathieu is still alive. Pierre hadn't shown up, of course. He probably thought this was all just a thing to keep Mathieu occupied, until a war arose out of nowhere. He wouldn't risk his life for this. Not now.

Eventually, white flags replace the banners on the French side as Mathieu takes the remainder of his men back. Now, Zayn could be cruel and command the army to pursue them, to take them all hostage. But he wants to rule over half of what was France not that long ago. All the people are French. They wouldn't want to see more of their people slaughtered than necessary. Either way, that would not be something Zayn wants to do as a King. He isn't heartless. Was is cruel but he doesn't have to be.

He stops his horse as he watches all the French troops retreat back, white flags flying behind them. Eventually, they will all come back here again. Not to fight but to collect the dead.

Lord Hastings gallops to Zayn, panting. "Your Grace, shall we not accept the surrender?"

"It's alright, Lord Hastings," Zayn sighs and he finally takes off his helmet. "We won. At least today. Leave it as it is."

"Certainly, Your Grace," Lord Hastings nods and takes his horse back to where the majority of their men are.

Zayn tilts his head back, closing his eyes. The late afternoon sun gently warms his face, touching the blood and the bruises with its wispy rays. The battlefield almost sounds like music now. Somber and depressing, the sound of clangs isn't fueled with anger now. It's the bitter tone of death.

"Are you alright?" 

It's Harry's voice, Zayn knows that much without even opening his eyes. He was so far gone in his thoughts he didn't even hear Harry's horse come close to him. When he does open his eyes, he sees Harry sitting atop his horse, helmet off, hair messy and falling into his eyes. There's a smear of blood near his eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Zayn sighs. "Have you been hurt?"

Harry looks down and shakes his head. "No. There will be bruises but for the most part, I'm alright."

"Do you want to go back to camp?" Zayn asks. "I want to get out of this heavy armour before coming back to asses the losses."

"Please," Harry says, his voice trailing off at the end.

They ride back to camp side by side, slowly and silently. They pass by countless of injured people being taken back to the camp, many other soldiers heavily walking back. Once they finally get back to their tent, it's as if they could breathe again.

Everything is so different than the last time they were in a battle together. They knew they weren't responsible for it so even if the guilt of killing and participating in it all was very much present, it wasn't this bad. They were the ones to declare war, they took their men across the channel and brought them into this field to lose their lives for the Crown. Even if they won today, it doesn't mean everything is over. It doesn't mean they can't die too.

Once the servants have attended them and they're no longer in the armour that feels like a metal prison, the war inside of their minds starts to settle down a little.

Harry sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm gonna write home. I cannot go back there, not tonight."

"Alright," Zayn nods, coming to him and putting a hand on his waist. "I get it. I want to go and see how many men we have lost. See if I can help in any way."

"I love you," Harry says, his voice shaky. "Please, come back to me soon."

"It will be just a moment," Zayn whispers and presses a kiss onto Harry's cheek before leaving the tent again.

He doesn't take his horse this time, only his sword. Just in case. His boots get caked in blood as he steps in literal puddles of it.

The aftermath of a battle is always grim. The battlefield is suddenly a no man's land and if it ends like today, there will be two groups of soldiers trying to find their own dead in the mess of mud and blood.

Zayn walks through the chilling maze of corpses as the sun sets. The dusk is rather beautiful, ironically. A jarring juxtaposition to the horrid mess on the group. So many lives lost and for what? For land? For power? He tries to tell himself that he made the right decision, one that saves countless more lives and prevented years of hardship for the people of not only France but the whole of Europe. It's rather hard to believe it when he's nearly swimming in the blood of his own people.

It's almost dark when a messenger comes from Mathieu's camp. A commander directs him to Zayn, who's been alone the whole time. He's asked a general or two about the numbers, but only in passing. 

The messenger doesn't say anything to Zayn, only gives him a sealed, small letter. Zayn opens it right then and there, reading slowly, as if his brain couldn't absorb any new information now.

Mathieu gives up. For now.

Zayn drops the letter into the puddle of blood at his feet. As the last strands of light illuminate the sky, he turns his back to the battlefield and starts the walk back to the camp.

xxx

Once Zayn gets back to the tent they wordlessly coined as theirs, Harry gets off the low bed right away and comes to Zayn.

"Finally," Harry breathes out, grabbing Zayn's face in his hands. "Can we please-"

The words are lost as he kisses Zayn and his hands start to travel down to the lacing on Zayn's jacket. And Zayn doesn't fight it. After seeing the carnage on the field, he's so numb that he would give anything to just feel again.

"I need to forget it," Harry whispers as he frantically kisses Zayn over and over again as he tries to take off his clothes at the same time. "I just want you now and nothing else."

Zayn nods, their foreheads pressed together as they breathe heavily, their hands quickly working on the obnoxious lacing of their clothes. Their lips meet time and time again as more clothing disappears off of their bodies. As they're walking towards the low bed, still locked in a kiss, Zayn feels wetness on his fingers after grabbing Harry's cheek. He pulls away, searching Harry's tear-stained face for an answer. But Harry just shakes his head quickly, whispering "_Please_", his hand at the back of Zayn's head, saying the word over and over again until their lips meet with a kiss again.

They fall into the bed, kissing as if their lives depended on it. Harry pulls Zayn between his open legs, locking him in quickly so he can't pull away. Not that he would ever want to. Not after not touching Harry properly for two months. Not after not kissing him for just as long.

Maybe it's wrong, fucking after a battle, after they killed God knows how many innocent men. Is it a sin? Perhaps but it doesn't feel like it. Not even when Harry forces Zayn to enter him significantly sooner than when he would be ready. He must want to feel some other pain, they both want.

They claw at each other, bite but kiss too. It's pain and it's love and it's guilt and it's two months of sleeping in separate beds. It's missing each other, missing their love.

After they both come, Zayn collapses against Harry's chest and he wants to cry. Let himself break loose and let go of it all. He almost does it but then Harry wraps his arms around him, putting one of his hands into Zayn's hair and maybe, just maybe, he keeps him from breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! There's another chapter! This one is quite long, it's 5k. Well, we had a battle. The war doesn't seem to be over yet, does it? But at least Zarry are okay again, right?
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this one, please leave some feedback, I really, really, really appreciate it. Also, it lets me know how many people are actually reading and to see another chapter.
> 
> So, if you would like an update, let me know and I shall do the best I can ;)
> 
> Thank you so much :)


	4. four.

_(all dialogue with the French people is supposed to be in French, but I'll save you guys the translations, just letting you know for context)_

_September 1493, Bordeaux, Aquitaine, Territory of the Kingdom of England_

France was now torn in two.

After the Battle of Thouars, Zayn and Harry officially took over Aquitaine and other parts of France that Melisende had written over to them. There haven't been any rebellions as of now but that doesn't mean they won't happen at one point or another.

Instead of making their way back home to England, they went to Bordeaux. Immediately, they arranged some festivities for the people and eventually, they will travel around the most important strongholds in the regions they essentially attached to England. In all of their public appearances, they have only spoken in French and spoke of England as little as they could. It must have helped a little that Zayn mentioned his family being the ruling Lords and Ladies of the land for centuries a few times, and also his own experiences coming to France growing up. They're not complete foreigners after all. This land was once before English, until their ancestors lost it in the hundred years' war.

Melisende's presence would've helped perhaps, but she's staying in Windsor to act as regent while they're in... what they're now calling the French part of England. They're careful about the proclamations they make. It's rather important they let people hang onto their patriotism. Besides, while Melisende would've been an asset in France, they don't trust anyone with the Crown more than her.

The gentry is a bit wary of their presence but they're not completely hostile. They have invited quite a few of them to court at Chateau de Roquetaillade, to show their hospitability. While the court remains quite French in the time-being, the Privy Council members that came down from England are _gently_ nudging them to start implementing some changes soon. It can wait. They didn't conquer the land to rule it, they did it to stop a disaster. England is well of on her own.

Even if it all seems relatively peaceful, the war is far from over. They have spies and informants in the "proper" France and Pierre nor Mathieu have given up. They're plotting and preparing for war. But so are Zayn and Harry.

Their honeymoon some years ago wasn't just for them to relax and have sex all over Europe. They formed alliances. Inconspicuously, over dinner and a pitcher of wine. The first of them has already come in handy as the Medicis graciously provided them with a precautionary loan for the far so they don't deplete the Treasury. But they also had allies on the other side of Europe, in Spain. Now it also happens that they share a border with them.

As two Kingdoms and strongholds for Catholicism, their alliance hasn't been shaken by this futile war. Quite opposite. Catalina and Timoteo offered up some of their military capacity to help them with France. And who would refuse such gesture from a Kingdom as powerful as the newly-united Spain? Not to mention that there have been rumours that Pierre has struck up an alliance with the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation.

In June, Helen came to Bordeaux with their children and the Privy Council members that would help set up the Privy Council in French England. They officially appointed Agnes as the governess of the land, which has been viewed as something a bit controversial considering her Brother is waging a war against England. But Agnes couldn't be further away from Mathieu in character, intelligence and everything, really. While Mathieu is all spitefulness and hatred of Mariota, Agnes has the kindness of her Father and intelligence of her Grandmother. Either way, Mariota has left Bordeaux and now lives on Pierre's court, along with Mathieu. She forced her husband Gamet to come with her too so only Agnes and Clericia remain in Bordeaux.

In the troubling wait for the next battle, all they can do is try to establish their presence in Aquitaine as protection, not oppression.

xxx

The traditional French court is much more involved in the lives of the sovereigns than the classic English one. Chateau de Roquetaillade is quite big, but still not as large as Windsor or the castles that the French King normally occupies. Still, there is quite a lot of people present and Zayn and Harry have to entertain them and give the nobles way more attention than to the English nobility.

As it's custom, they throw dinner parties typically once a week. Often people from outside of court are invited, there's music and tons of food. It is rather wasteful, considering they're in the middle of a war and they need gold for soldiers and ammunition but after a meeting with their shrunk Privy Council, they conceded that it's best they indulge the nobility.

Zayn never quite liked the fancy court parties. When he was younger it was better because usually, after his Mother paraded him around for a bit, he was free to get drunk and bed someone but now that he's King, everyone is trying to shadow him and talk to him and ask for favours. Also, he fucking hates dancing.

"Your Highness, how is the alliance with Spain coming along?" Baroness Gramont asks. She's a rather interesting figure on court. With her grey hair, she's truly ancient but more politically skilled than half of all French nobility combined.

"Rather well, thank you, Baroness," Zayn replies. "It is secure and set in stone. We do not know when another battle comes so a part of Spain's troops is already on their way here. Their Kingdom is enjoying an era of peace now and with their recent unification, they have been more than well off."

"That is just great," Baroness Gramont gives a breathy laugh, joining her ringed, thin fingers together. "Have you heard what is happening down south? With the Ottomans?"

"Oh, yes," Zayn agrees, gulping down wine before he continues. What time is it? Would it be weird if he just suddenly disappeared now and took a nap? "The battle of Krbava field came out of nowhere, really. The Kingdom of Croatia had no chance against them, with the way they attacked. Not to mention Hungary completely abandoned them."

"Do you reckon we should be worried about the Ottomans?" Baroness Gramont reaches for her own wine glass, not drinking from it, just holding it as she studies Zayn and waits for an answer. He often feels like everyone is testing them here. Trying to see if they're actually here to deplete the French land and beat it down into the ground until it's fully and wholly English.

Zayn chuckles uncomfortably. "Well, Baroness, now I know for sure that we should be worried about our very neighbours. As far as I'm concerned, the Ottomans are now heading west now. They are trying to take over eastern and central Europe first. Get the gold mines in northern Hungary. Settle there and then move onto the west. They have a lot of Europe to bite through before they get here."

"Very well, Your Highness, I was-"

"Please, excuse, Baroness," Zayn interrupts her and promptly gets out of his chair. "I have some other matter to attend to. It was a great talk."

He doesn't really have anything other to attend to. Maybe find Harry, who's flitting somewhere around the room like a butterfly, and ask him to fuck him but that's a private matter that the court shouldn't stick their nose into. Not that they're not trying their hardest to learn every single detail about their marital life. They're also quite perplexed by the fact that neither of them has a mistress and that their children are actually at court with them.

But for now, Zayn joins Frederick at a small table, hidden away from the party. He plops down on empty chair and sighs.

"I am so tired of people," Zayn whines. "This court is so much more... engaging than at Windsor. There, nobles actually can go five minutes without talking to me, believe it or not. I'm the King, not the court jester."

Frederick hums and sets his wine glass down. "Isn't that what Kings are? Glorified court jesters?"

Zayn laughs despite himself. "Yes, sure, whatever. How are you, my friend?"

"I have been better," Frederick shrugs. "I've received word from our spies at the French court."

"No, no, no," Zayn closes his eyes and hides his face, lying his head on his forearm on the table. "Unless it's an absolute catastrophe I do not want to hear it until tomorrow's meeting in the afternoon."

"There will be a battle soon," Frederick speaks anyway. "If we can trust the spies."

Zayn sits up straight again, scoffing. "They're my Mother's spies. Have you any idea how many people she's fucked over thanks to them? They've poisoned people for her."

"Well, why can't she send a little tasty bottle of yummy poison for your cousin and Pierre now?" Frederick quirks his eyebrow.

"Because everyone would know it was us and we'd face an actual shitstorm," Zayn explains. "I'm trying to do things in a more honourable way. Some aspects of rule, such as spies, are necessary but I won't go around poisoning people because it can easily be me on the receiving end too."

A beat of silence passes between them. Every time poison is mentioned Zayn can't not remember the atrocity that Lord Warwick committed. How he saw Harry lying in that bed, pale and shiny with cold sweat. Zayn thought he was dead at first. And he won't risk seeing that again. It's a miracle no one has tried to poison his Mother after all those times she herself poisoned people that pose a threat to her.

"Anyway, do you think Pierre and Mathieu are fucking?" Frederick asks out of nowhere.

Zayn spits out the wine he was drinking and starts to laugh hysterically.

"Oh, Lord," Zayn breathes out once they both finally stop laughing. "That sounds like a nightmare. I don't even want to think about it. When Harry and I visited Pierre's court, he was _surrounded_ by courtesans. I'm not even kidding. His mistress Nicola was almost attached at his hip. I know that it is quite taboo here for a King to marry a man but I don't believe Pierre is doing that just to be conventional. Other than generally being a cunt, he didn't seem to have a problem with having couples of the same sex be his courtiers. At this point, I don't believe Mathieu is an actual human being so who knows? Maybe he's fallen deeply in love with Pierre. Ugh, that sounds wretched, doesn't it?"

Making fun of Pierre and Mathieu proves to be great entertainment, albeit childish but that doesn't stop Zayn and Frederick from laughing their arses off about it. Once they get to the contemplation about how would Pierre look like a cursed frog, a familiar pair of arms snakes around Zayn's neck from behind and a pair of warm lips meets his cheek.

"Hi, love," Zayn smiles up at Harry, grabbing his wrist gently. "I've missed you."

"Frederick, do you mind if I steal my husband away for the rest of the night?" Harry asks with a shit-eating grin.

"Not at all," Frederick chuckles. "I admire that you're still fucking around like you did when you were teenagers in York."

"I'd say we're much less agile than we were," Zayn jokes.

"Ugh, get out," Frederick laughs and they don't need to be told twice.

They can't really kiss on their way to their chambers because the halls of the chateau are milling with courtiers since the party is still far from over so they just walk back as quickly as they can, their hands together.

The second the door is shut behind them and they're in their bedroom, Zayn's lips are quite literally attacked by Harry's.

"God," Harry gasps when they pull away a little for air. "I've wanted to do this _all night_ but I couldn't do it in front of people and we had to stay there. But now that we're alone, I want you so badly."

"I want you too," Zayn preens and his hands travel down to Harry's arse. "Tell me what you want."

"There is nothing more I'd like than for you to fuck me so hard I wouldn't be able to walk in the morning," Harry gasps, pressing their hips together so their hard lengths are right up against one another. "And I hate to say this but we should do something else tonight. We're both tipsy and I know we won't be careful and I can't risk being with child now. The war isn't over and if we want to win, we both need to be on the battlefield."

"Alright," Zayn nods and kisses Harry shortly on the mouth. "I can finger you or you can fuck me if you want, babe. Haven't done that in a bit."

"You made an offer impossible to turn down," Harry grins. "Would I be too greedy if I wanted both?"

A knock comes from the door. Zayn looks at Harry with concern, Harry sharing the same unsettled feeling. It's the middle of the night and even if there is a soireé, no one would bother them this late at night unless it was an emergency.

"Who is it?" Zayn calls out.

"It's Claudia, Your Highness," her voice says quickly. "I am so sorry to bother you so late at night but Princess Philippa and Prince Cassian are not feeling very good and they have been asking to see you both. I have tried to console them and have them wait until the morning but they would not stop crying. I do apologise for disturbing you, you do not have to go, I will take care of them until you can see them if you are otherwise engaged."

Those words are enough for them to completely forget all about fucking, parties, politics, everything. Nothing matters right now except for their children. Zayn's heart depressingly left out a beat when he heard that Philippa and Cassian aren't feeling good and he prays to God and all saints that it's not something serious. He doesn't think as he walks to the door and goes to the children's room with Claudia. All that seems to be in his mind is only worry and fear, that their babies aren't alright.

When they get to the kids' room, Philippa and Cassian are both lying in their small beds, smothered with blankets. They're sweaty, clearly feverish and it's clear they have cried. It physically _hurts_ to see them in such state and the fear lingering in Zayn's chest only grows and grows.

"Has the physician been here?" Zayn asks as he sits on the edge of Philippa's bed. She looks up at him with glassy eyes, barely keeping them open. Zayn gently puts his hand on her cheek and shusher her, saying everything will be fine.

"Yes, Your Highness," Claudia replies. "He gave them some medicine and they have been drinking herbal tea too. The fever should break by the morning, he says. He suggested that this is not anything serious, just the aftermath of them playing outside while it rained."

"Why did they play outside in the rain?" Harry lets out a disbelieving breath, a tell-tale sign of his anger. His hand is on top of Cassian's head, smoothing down his dark hair and Cassian looks seemingly asleep. "Are you mad?"

"It was not me, Your Highness," Claudia looks down at the floor. "It was the other nanny, Angelique."

"Well, consider Angelique fired," Harry says sternly. "She is not to be let to see the children ever again. And make sure she leaves court. We will talk about finding a replacement for her once the children have recovered. She is lucky I will not have her thrown in the gaol. Now leave. And have the physician come here first thing in the morning."

"Of course, Your Highness," Claudia bows and scurries out of the room quickly.

"Papa, it hurts," Philippa sobs.

"What does, baby?" Zayn asks in a soft voice, pushing away her sweaty hair from her face. He can't seem to properly catch his breath since he came inside the room. Seeing his children in pain is something no parent wants to ever see.

"My head, Papa," Philippa sniffs. "It hurts and I am sleepy and I miss you."

"I'm here now, _ma petite cerise,"_ Zayn bends down to kiss her forehead. "Daddy and I are here and we're not leaving you, alright? You can go to sleep, love. We will watch over you. You need to rest so you can get healthy and strong again."

Philippa nods softly and finally lets her heavy eyelids shut close. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Zayn says and leaves another kiss on her forehead. He doesn't dare to get up and leave her side. He's not quite sure why but he knows that the only thing he wants now is for her and Cassian to be alright again. With children, even a simple fever or a cough is dangerous. Their bodies aren't strengthened by time and are so vulnerable. Little children die all the time and Zayn aggressively pushed that thought out of his head.

Zayn doesn't know how long he sits there, watching Philippa sleep and take over heavy breath after another before Cassian starts crying. He looks over to the other bed and sees as Harry wraps him up in one of the blankets so he isn't cold before picking him up, rocking him gently as he tries to shush his crying. Philippa doesn't wake up at the noise and commotion, her sleep and exhaustion too deep.

Cassian is still just three years old, nearly four, but he cries then like he did when he was a baby. It's an interesting observation, though, how the children seem to cry in the way they did when they were little every time they're hurt or distressed. Usually, it's just a scraped knee or elbow and not a fever.

As Harry walks around the room with Cassian in his arms, Cassian slowly stops crying and falls asleep again. But Harry doesn't put him back to bed. Instead, he sits down on the sofa in the room, still holding Cassian. He's a little too big to be handled like a baby so he's got his face pressed on Harry's shoulder as he sleeps fitfully.

After a moment, Zayn joins them there, leaving Philippa in her deep slumber in the bed. As soon as he sits down, he pets Cassian's messy dark hair. His eyelashes cast a shadow as he sleeps and his cheeks are bright red from the fever.

"I'm so fucking scared," Harry says then, wide eyes meeting Zayn's. "What if they're _seriously_ sick? What if they both...?"

"We can't think like that," Zayn says. "They have to be alright. They're strong, healthy kids. This can't take them down."

Harry shakes his head softly. "We don't control this. How many people have lost their babies to a fever? Countless. To death, it doesn't matter that we're Kings and they're our heirs. I have already lost one baby, I can't lose Cassian and Philippa too."

"You won't," Zayn puts his hand on Harry's knee. "We won't lose them."

"I should put him to bed," Harry says wearily and stands up, walking to Cassian's bed. He carefully lays Cassian down, bundling him up in duvets and furs before kissing his forehead and walking back to the sofa.

He lays his head on Zayn's shoulder when he sits down again and blindly finds Zayn's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"After the war," Harry says, his voice small. "Given that we survive and win. We ought to have more children. After Cassian's rather difficult birth, I didn't- I wasn't too keen on the idea of having another one. I just don't want to risk dying and then leaving you here alone, leaving our children with an absent parent. We had an heir and a spare, right? But now I'm not so sure it's enough. Not when it's so easy to lose them."

"Didn't you want a baby before we left for France?"

"Not really, no," Harry sighs. "That whole charade when we were fighting, I was just trying to rile you up. It wasn't serious. But now, I can't look at the situation and not see legitimate concerns. Now I pray to God that Philippa and Cassian will be alright but we are in such a vulnerable position. We're at war, there could be a battle next week and we can easily die. We didn't fight for England to stop warring with one another for it to happen again not even ten years later."

"You have a point," Zayn agrees. "Our lives are constantly in danger. So are our children's lives. But please, we can't think about the worst possible outcomes constantly. The fever will break, they will be alright. Don't push yourself into having more children. You know what happened last time."

"That was different," Harry argues, his voice tired. "I was eighteen, I didn't want to be a Father. I was upset about not being able to train with the longsword and drink until I blacked out and fuck, instead of thinking about the child growing underneath my heart. God only knows how I would've ended up if he was born. But it would not have been nice. Now, I didn't want more children because I didn't want to die and abandon my family."

"I won't let you, babe," Zayn tries to cheer him up. "Death will have to come through me before it gets to you."

Harry chuckles somberly. "I appreciate the sentiment but you wouldn't be able to do a single thing if I were like, bleeding out or something."

"Oh, Harry, why are you so depressing tonight?" Zayn mumbles and kisses the top of Harry's head. "But while we're at it, Frederick says there will be a battle soon."

"What?" Harry lets out a soft gasp, sitting up straight and looking at Zayn with shock. "How does he know?"

"My Mother's spies," Zayn explains grimly. "We don't know anything else for now. It would be good to get the troops ready for immediate assembly."

Harry groans softly and puts his head back on Zayn's shoulder. "At least Spain already sent some reinforcements. Unless Pierre gets insane support from the east, we should be alright."

"We'll be back home soon, my love," Zayn says, not really believing his own words. "The role of King is chosen by God. That is why we're anointed, not appointed. We _can_ win this war."

"Well, God could be a little considerate and not have our children get ill when there is a battle looming in the air," Harry says, laughing softly afterwards.

Zayn laughs too, bringing their joint hands up and kissing the back of Harry's hand. Nothing is ever easy in their lives but over the years, they have learned to manage it. They can get through this, as they've gotten through all those hurdles life has presented them with so far.

xxx

Some two weeks later, Harry and Zayn are spending the afternoon with their children in the drawing room of their quarters. Ever since the kids had scared the living shit out of them with their fevers, they have been spending more time with them, just the four of them as a family. Frankly, they couldn't give two shits about the nobility at this moment.

Harry's got Philippa in his lap as he reads out a book to her, while Zayn is playing with Cassian nearby. They're all seated on the carpet, Harry with his back against one of the sofas. And it's blissful. Even if there are war and danger, seeking them out behind every corner, it doesn't even matter.

Harry truly never felt happier than when Philippa and Cassian's fever broke. He could see all the horrible scenarios and catastrophes. After losing their first child, albeit completely unnaturally, Harry knew that he would rather die himself than see one of his babies dead again.

"What is this letter, Philippa?" Harry asks her, pointing at the large letter that is the very first one on the page and much bigger than all the other ones.

Philippa hums, looking at the book. "Is it O?"

"Yes, it is," Harry laughs softly, kissing Philippa on the head. "You're so smart, love. Soon enough, you will know how to read this book all on your own and then you won't even need me for anything."

"That is silly, Daddy," Philippa giggles. "I will always need you."

Harry just smiles sadly, cuddling her close to his chest. He knows that it's not true. Philippa will be six next year and as the years keep adding up, she'll need him less and less and less until she's grown up and living her own life. Now the idea of having more children doesn't sound so bad.

A knock interrupts Harry's stream of thought.

"Come in!" he calls out and Lord Dudley comes in. Harry starts to feel this budding unrest because Lord Dudley is the chief commander of their army and seeing him out of nowhere is never a good sign.

"Your Highness, I am sorry to interrupt but there is news," Lord Dudley says, closing the door behind him. "Not very good ones."

Harry looks over at Zayn and they exchange a look. They already know what it is. No words are needed.

"Philippa, be a doll and take Cassian into our bedroom," Harry says quietly into Philippa's ear. "Take your toys and please, be nice to each other, alright, sweetheart?"

"Alright, Daddy," Philippa says and gets out of Harry's lap. She and Cassian grab some toys from the floor before Philippa takes his hand and they hop off to their bedroom together.

Harry and Zayn sit on a sofa like normal adults, waiting for Lord Dudley to tell them the dismal news. He's seated opposite them, not as nervous as they are but not aloof either.

"Our rider patrol has seen the French army marching on our border," Lord Dudley says with measured calmness. "Their army seems to be bigger than the last time, at least from what we have been able to gather. They are expected to reach Bordeaux in no more than two weeks. However, it would be advisable and preferable if we rode out to meet them in the middle and kept them away from our most important stronghold. If you will, Your Graces, I will have the army ready to ride in two days."

"What about the Spanish troops?" Zayn asks.

"They should be coming shortly," Lord Dudley replies. "Hopefully, they will be able to meet us in time for the battle. I will have a rider sent out immediately so they do not pointlessly come to Bordeaux when we are near the border."

And it's that simple. Just a few words are enough for another battle to come and try to claim their lives, their Kingdom. There is nothing else for them to do than comply and follow the decorum of warfare.

xxx

Harry used to love the thrill of a battle. Back when he was young and foolish, fighting for the throne he eventually got thanks to love and kindness. It seems like a completely different life now but there were days when his whole body thrummed with energy as he climbed atop his horse, a sharp sword in his hand, ready to ride into a battle. It was exhilarating, it made him feel alive, which is quite ironic since he was taking lives there, lives of innocent men.

Harry still loves a good fight, he trains with the sword nearly every day and he will rarely say no to a hunt or a friendly sword fight but he's realized that battles are one of the most tragic things in the world. The same thrill he used to get as he made his way through a battle comes to him when he's training or using his sword in a safe, non-deadly environment. It took him a few years to realize that basic sportsmanship can give him the same feeling without the risk of death.

Now a battle seems like a violent, prolonged funeral but there is no way around it. He has to kill or he will be killed. It doesn't matter that Harry didn't want one, no one in England was seeking war but regrettably, their enemies were. Now, to save their Kingdom, they simply have to fight.

The battle started quite early in the morning. That was a while ago and now, Harry fears that they might be completely fucked. The French brought in fresh troops and they've got nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Harry looks over the battle from the edge of the flank and he can see that they haven't lost anyone important yet. Not that every human life isn't important but at least they have their full military command. He can Helen not that far from him, her blond hair unravelled and peeking out from underneath her helmet. There's Lord Dudley and Lord Halifax. And finally, he can also see Zayn quite a bit away from him but at least he's there.

They might lose the battle. It's a real possibility now that Harry has to consider. They're outnumbered now, God knows by how many men. They might have had a better strategy but Pierre had more men from the Germans. And Harry has no fucking clue what will happen if they really do lose. Pierre and Mathieu will never be kind enough not to kill them. Even if they keep them alive, they are gonna be thrown into a dungeon and they'll never see the light of day again. They'll never see their children again.

If Harry's supposed to stay on this battlefield, he needs to stop thinking about what will happen to their children if they're captured or killed. None of the options is pretty and it won't bring any good either way.

When Harry's just about to start thinking about praying before being killed, he hears something. Countless hooves hitting the ground, armour making sound with each step. And then the war horn.

"The Spanish," Harry breathes out, looking as two divisions of the Spanish army come down into the valley where they're fighting, one on each side. His heart starts beating frantically, realising that this is their last and only chance to win. The rush makes him fight with a new wave of strength, suddenly seeing the finish line clear again, not just his own head on a spike.

Both Pierre and Mathieu are fighting this time. And to be honest, Harry wants to fucking kill them both. He knows he won't be able to get to them so easily because they're surrounded by their military officials, hiding from any real danger. They're cowards, both of them. Pierre and Mathieu came here and attacked them and they won't even fucking fight like they meant it.

Harry tries to think as the battle plays out around him. He won't be able to kill them alone, that's impossible. He can't take everyone to run after them because the troops still need commanding. But maybe he could get at least to one of them with Zayn and perhaps Helen too. They're all warriors, they know how to fight. They're not like Mathieu and Pierre, spoiled little boys who had swords only to play with them and not learn how to fight.

So Harry makes the decision then. He starts literally cutting his way through the battlefield to find Zayn first. It's harder now that there are more troops than before but Harry manages to get to the general area where Zayn should be. But no matter how hard he tries, to matter how much he leads his horse around the blood-soaked mud, he can't find him.

His heart skips a beat and perhaps falls down into his stomach. This can't be right. Harry can't stand around because the longer he's static, the more men start to attack him and the more men he has to kill. So he turns back, going to either Lord Dudley or Lord Halifax. Perhaps they will know where the fuck is their other King.

It's not the easiest trip but Harry gets to Lord Halifax eventually. He shouts above the loud music of the battle, asking where his husband has gone.

"He was injured, Your Grace," Lord Halifax says and the world then disappears. "I have no idea where he is."

Harry doesn't say anything. He just turns his horse and runs away. It doesn't fucking matter to him that he's leaving the battle behind because he needs to find the love of his life. He's breathing so hard in the early October air that his throat hurts but nothing matters. Not until he finds Zayn.

"Don't be dead, don't be fucking dead," Harry says to himself as he tries to fight tears. He can't cloud his visions now because he needs to be alert, he can't have someone attacking him out of nowhere now.

He's headed to camp because that is the only place where Zayn would've gone if he got injured. Harry doesn't understand how it even happened because Zayn's the best fighter he knows and they've never been able to win against each other in sword fights but it's irrelevant now. All he wants is for him to be alive.

As he gets closer and closer the camp, the grass is actually green and not this ugly brown-red shade of bloody mud. No dead bodies line his path as he nears the neat rows of hundreds of tents. If he completely wiped his brain it would almost look picturesque.

When Harry finally reaches the outskirts of the camp, it is eerily silent. There are some screams of pain from the injured soldiers that have already been brought there but at this stage of the battle, there haven't been too many of them. Harry takes off his helmet and hops off his horse. The rows of tents are too close to one another for him to ride comfortably and he can see better from the ground.

He curses whoever put the camp up now because the royal and command tents are at the very edge of it, as far from the enemies as possible.

Harry sees a nurse not far from where his and Zayn tent is and he calls after her, running up to catch up.

"Have you seen the King?" Harry asks, his heart beating in his throat. "Please, tell me you've seen him."

The nurse looks at Harry with shock, her mouth dropping open. "I am so sorry, Your Highness but I have not."

"Fuck," Harry curses and keeps walking toward their tent. This can't be it. There's no fucking way. He can't lose Zayn. He doesn't know how to live without him.

Their tent finally comes into sight. Harry runs up the last few meters to it, pushing the flap open promptly. He looks in and nothing. The tent is empty.

Harry walks inside slowly, letting out a slow huff of breath. His chest is tight, so fucking tight he feels like his ribs are going to crush his lunch and heart. He drops down onto the low bed, looking around the depressingly empty tent.

If Zayn had been injured, he would be here. Even if he died because of it, he would be here. And he isn't. He hasn't been, not since the morning before they left for the battle.

The hot tears streaming down Harry's face don't come as a surprise. The love of his life is most likely lying lifelessly somewhere on the battlefield in the mud while horses walk around. War doesn't differentiate between its victims and Harry has to bitterly attest to this truth.

He can't think. There is nothing to think about, not really. He can just feel himself breaking into a million tiny pieces that no one will be able to put back together.

Harry knew this war would take something from him. He just didn't expect it to be the one man he loved the most in the world. His rock, his soulmate.

A half of his soul is gone, just like that.

xxx

Harry doesn't know for how long he sits there motionlessly. He doesn't have the strength to get up, to remove his armour. He did take his gloves off as he was hysterically crying so he could grab a handkerchief.

What will he tell Philippa and Cassian? That Papa went to heaven? Is that it? Will they even remember him in a few years?

If Harry didn't have children he would stab himself with his own dagger because he feels like that is the only thing that would quench the pain in his heart. His soul has been shattered and there is nothing that could mend it back together.

He doesn't even want to think about what is to happen now. His brain tries to nudge him to wonder about the battle, about how it has been going, if they won or not. But nothing matters to him right now. Absolutely nothing.

Eventually, Harry does get up and starts to take his armour off. It's hard to do it himself since it's usually put on by a servant but he feels like he can't even breathe. The metal seemed to be slowly suffocating him, aiding the heartbreak. He puts on a simple white shirt and brown pants and contemplates what to do now. There are not many ideas, except for lying down in bed and crying.

Harry then hears footsteps outside of the tent. It's probably Helen or someone else to tell him the news. He only seems to be getting horrible news lately. Perhaps it's an assassin that Pierre sent and at that moment, Harry isn't even that scared, he's just really too tired to fight again. Just as a precaution, Harry locates an easily accessible dagger in the tent.

The flap on the tent opens and it's not Helen. Definitely not an assassin either.

"What the actual fuck?!" Harry screams, tears once again appearing on his face. "I thought you were dead, you arsehole!"

Zayn stands near the flap, shirtless with a jacket thrown over his shoulder. Harry notices a bandage on his left one as Zayn stares at him in shock,

"Why would you think I was dead?" Zayn asks, perplexed. "Have you been crying?"

"Yes, I have been crying!" Harry screams and furiously wipes his tears. "I tried to find you on the battlefield, I had a plan for us, along with Helen possibly, to try and kill Mathieu at least. When I couldn't find you, I went to Lord Halifax and he said you had been injured. Then once again, I couldn't fucking find you anywhere so I logically figured you were dead and being tramped to mush by horses on the muddy battlefield. And here you are!"

"I'm sorry, love," Zayn says. "I left the battle because I didn't want to _actually_ die and as I got to camp, I was on my way to our tent but some nurses ran into me and took me to their tent to patch me up."

"Fuck," Harry breathes out and walks to Zayn, gently wrapping his arms around his naked torso. "I should be the one who is sorry, Zayn. And I am. I didn't mean to yell at you. Are you alright, my love? What happened?"

"So fuck tried to stab my shoulder and he was kind of successful?" Zayn chuckles a little. "Didn't get deep enough to do any real damage. I'm fine, Haz, I promise."

Harry pulls back a little so he can look at Zayn. "Please, never scare me like that again. I already fucking mourned you and I was thinking about what to tell the children. God, I'm so, so, so fucking glad you're alive and that you haven't been hurt badly. Are you in pain? Am I hurting you?"

"No, no, no, don't worry," Zayn says quickly, a small smile on his lips and he uses his right hand to keep Harry holding him. "It's almost nothing. A stitch or two. A nasty scar to come but I'm fine. It's my left shoulder so it's not even affecting my dominant hand. I was truly contemplating staying on the battlefield but the dagger got stuck in my armour and I really didn't want to die so, here we are."

"You fool," Harry smiles, shaking his head. "I was so scared. Never been more scared in my life. I don't think I could ever live without you."

"Well, I'm here now, in one piece," Zayn lets out a breathy laugh. "And today is far from over, love."

"What do you mean?"

"We won the battle," Zayn says. "And Lord Dudley said Pierre and Mathieu want to negotiate peace."

Harry furrows his brows. "Seriously? To end the war, you mean?"

"Probably," Zayn shrugs his good shoulder. "I don't fucking trust those weasels, just to be clear. But not agreeing to at least try to negotiate would be bad for us. It would look like we want to keep the war going. So, I guess we have a little trip behind the enemy lines ahead of us. Like right now."

Harry sighs and closes his eyes. Today is a spectacularly shitty day.

xxx

Mathieu and Pierre act like they won the battle not lost it. They did have the decency to have the meeting at a table, with everyone's chair equally sized and no one at the head of the table. But they're not humbled by their loss. Their demeanour suggests they're here to offer some scraps to Harry and Zayn, who in their eyes lost the battle and now are at their mercy.

The truth is quite different and they know it, they just won't let it show.

"So let us hear about this peace," Zayn says, his eyes in sharp focus. With his formal clothes on, no one can say that there's a bloody bandage on his shoulder and that two hours ago, Harry thought that he was dead.

"Oh yes," Pierre chuckles, his fingers forming a pyramid. "I do have a proposition."

Harry raises his brows. "What is it? It better be good. You lost and you are making an offer to the winners."

"Give us our land back and we will leave you alone," Pierre says plainly, shrugging with his hands. "This was is not done until I have back what is mine. It is rather simple. Let France be France again and go back home to England. Everyone will be happy as we were before."

Zayn chuckles. "Pierre, you must think we are both really fucking stupid, don't you?"

"No," Pierre furrows his brows. "Not really. I mean, you are not the brightest of the bunch, but not stupid."

"This would be possible if your very good ally and companion gave us his ambitions to turn Aquitaine and surrounding area into its own country," Harry says, his eyes digging into Mathieu.

"Never," Mathieu spits. "I want great things for my homeland and you two are going to run in into the ground for England. We will never give up until France is safe."

"France isn't safe only because of you, Cousin," Zayn says matter-of-factly. "You started this war. Actually, your Mother did when she committed treason against the Crown and messed with the line of succession."

Mathieu goes red in the face.

"You wanted my throne, my crown," Zayn says, looking at Mathieu with chilling calmness, his head cocked to the side a little. "Since you cannot have it, you decided to create your own Kingdom and then conquer England with it. Did I guess right?"

Mathieu shoots up from his chair, trying to lunge across the table. Pierre holds him back because he is a King, after all, and has at least the slightest idea about what diplomacy is.

Harry just blinks slowly, trying not to start laughing at the scene. He looks at Zayn, who too looks vaguely amused and ready to leave this day behind.

"We are not leaving France until there is peace," Harry says as he stands up from his chair. "I do not care how. We do not want to oppress the French people. We just want peace. We want to do the right thing."

"If you are prepared to come to a sensible peace agreement, you know where we are," Zayn says and they leave.

Another battle, another unsuccessful attempt at peace. More lives lost. The war seems like it's never gonna end.

xxx

The day when they come back to Bordeaux, the children beg them to let them sleep in their bed with them. And sure, Harry had plans to ride Zayn slowly, finally in a proper bed, carefully enough not to fuck his shoulder up but it's fine. Their children are more important.

As Harry lies in bed that night, Zayn and the kids peacefully sleeping around him, he wonders if he will have to go through this again. The war will end eventually. He doesn't know when but they can't drag it out along the course of decades. If not to keep the suffering from themselves at least to spare their children from having to lead the war when they're gone.

Sometimes Harry thinks about what it would be like if they weren't Kings. If they were just normal people, living normal lives that had little to no impact on the lives of other people in the Kingdom. If the night he and Zayn met was just a sweet meeting, not two enemies coming face to face, trying to fuck out the hatred.

He wonders what his life would be like now. If this wasn't a castle but just a simple house somewhere in the English countryside. Their children would wake up in the morning and play around with some animals they would've had. They wouldn't have to see anyone else most days. There would be no nobles to entertain, no wars to be fought.

But they were born who they are and now they're Kings. Harry wishes for a simple life sometimes but he is grateful for the chance to make the world a better place. Even if it hasn't been going according to his plans lately, he knows that he and Zayn are doing some good in the world and truly, that is all he can ask for.

As Cassian is curled against Harry's chest, Philippa's arm near his head and Zayn on the other side of the bed, seemingly on the other side of the world since Harry can't touch him, Harry believes it will all be alright. Perhaps in a year, the war will be over. Maybe they will be back in England and there will be a baby in his belly kicking him constantly. Or not. Perhaps it will be just the four of them, somewhere away from court, away from the stress.

Harry would be fine if it was just the four of them forever, maybe along with Possie, somewhere in a small house in the middle of nowhere. They would be happy there.

But being who they are, they have to find a way to be happy now too. With war lingering around them, with the fear of death, with thousands upon thousands of people relying on them.

This is who they are - a family sleeping in a bed together, telling silly stories before falling asleep. But they are also the Royal Family. They are the Crown, the head of England. And it is who they will always have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD, THIS IS LONG. 7817 WORDS!!!! Please, leave me some love, I need it after this monster of a chapter.
> 
> How did you like it? A LOT happened and I'm so sorry for scaring you lmao. I would never kill Zayn, he's my baby.
> 
> PLEASE let me know what you thought and thank you SO MUCH for reading! Please do leave some feedback because this took like a full day of constant writing lmao.
> 
> I love you all, see you soon!


	5. five.

**_*** this is another long chapter (7.4k), please make sure to comment and leave some reactions to the story, it really helps me while writing, thank you so much _**❤️**_ ***_**

_(_ _the dialogue with French people is in French but I'm not annoying you all with translations)_

_March 1494 - Bordeaux, French England_

Long months have passed since the last battle and not much has changed. The war is still on, no promise of peace in the near future. They've got news from their spies, about Mathieu and Pierre plotting, perhaps pointlessly. After they lost the battle, The Holy Empire of the German People withdrew their support and without half their bannermen, who are loyal to England now, they can't muster up enough manpower for an attack. It would be futile because they would certainly lose, there are no doubts about it.

Still, the situation is on very shifty ground. The nobles have more or less accepted Zayn and Harry's rule because frankly, they're quite easy to fool. They threw a few balls, organised a hunt or two, all while not speaking a word of English to them and all was well. Years of court life have taught both Zayn and Harry that all the nobility truly wants is validation. Normally, it's quite easy to give it to them.

The peasants, however, they carry their Kings in their hearts for a longer time than the nobles. The gentry shifts sides as easily as the tide comes and goes, as long as they feel like they have a voice on the King's or Queen's court and they get to keep their riches and not pay astronomically high taxes. But the people are wary of intruders. They're cautious about someone new on the throne because there could be new decrees, there could be more leeway for the nobility to exploit them. All Zayn and Harry were able to do about them as of now was organise some festivals and show the people that they're not there to oppress them and force them to abandon their culture and roots. Over time, they will surely issue an official decree stating that French will remain the main language spoken and no one will be required to learn English if they don't want to. This union will be peaceful and based on equality and they're willing to prove it.

Another bit in their program not to alienate everyone in their new territory is throwing a spring festival in honour of Philippa's sixth birthday. For the regular folk, there are gonna be festivities and markets in Bordeaux, while the nobility will get to enjoy a whole afternoon of children screeching around the castle and playing games while the adults get drunk on wine.

It's not all perfect but life goes on. As long as they're alive and their Kingdom hasn't crumbled, all is well.

xxx

Zayn stares at the window opposite their bed, trying to figure out if the sun is about to break soon or not. He wishes it was, coming in with its rays to get rid of this depressing darkness. The near pitch black of the room feels almost suffocating.

He woke up a couple of minutes ago, gasping away from a nightmare.

It's been a rather frequent occurrence since the last battle. He sees blood-soaked fields, thousands of corpses piled on top of each other while more blood streams all over them. Sometimes Mathieu stands atop of it all, laughing in his face. Other times he sees Harry's lifeless body on the battlefield, face streaked with mud and blood, his eyes open but unfocused, unmoving.

This time it was rather gruesome. He can't quite remember the details but all he knows is that he could almost _feel_ himself getting crushed on the ground as he was slowly bleeding out, horses stomping over him and other victims of war. It was what would've waited for him if the man stabbed him any better than he did. Or if Zayn was reckless enough and stayed on the battlefield, trying to fight even if he was bleeding all over his arm.

The wound itself wasn't fatal, or even that bad. It's the implication. The injury opened Zayn's eyes to his own mortality. The war doesn't differentiate between its victims and he almost proved the point. He could've easily died that day. The dagger could've been a sword. He could've lost an arm if he didn't end up dying.

Thankfully, the dagger didn't even reach his bone and with four stitches and some recovery, all he has left is a scar on his back.

"Baby?" Harry's groggy voice brings Zayn out of his thinking. "Why are you awake?"

Zayn looks over his shoulder and gives Harry a tired, close-lipped smile. "Don't worry, love. Just woke up and couldn't sleep again."

Harry cocks his head, giving Zayn a look. He yawns, sitting up and scooting down to Zayn to the end of the bed. He wraps his arms around Zayn's naked torso and presses his cheek against Zayn's back. "You can tell me. What is it?"

"It's nothing, Haz," Zayn says quietly. "We should go back to sleep."

"You've got that crease between your eyebrows you always get when you're stressed," Harry mumbles and Zayn can feel his smile against his naked skin. "So please, don't try to fool me. I'm your husband, you can talk to me, love."

Zayn sighs and puts a hand atop Harry's on his waist. "I've been having nightmares since the last battle. About dying. About _you_ dying. I know it's nothing but sometimes it takes a pretty big chunk of some good sleep from me. Please, don't worry."

"I'll always worry," Harry says softly and leaves three fleeting kisses on the bumps of Zayn's spine before moving his lips to the scar on Zayn's left shoulder. "I want you to be alright, to be happy."

"I am happy."

"Married to me, how couldn't you be?" Harry jokes, chuckling quietly before pressing his cheek against Zayn's skin again. "Please, talk to me. I don't want you to suffer through this on your own. I'm here, always. No matter what. I'm worried too. I'm worried we will fail our Kingdom, our children. We _could_ die but we won't. And you know why? Because we fight together. And we will always have each other's backs."

"I'm sorry the war is happening," Zayn sighs quietly. "If my Mother hadn't written the land over to us, we could've been in England now. Safe, not risking our lives here."

"Don't you dare apologise, Zayn," Harry says, unwrapping his arms from around Zayn's torso and sitting right next to him so he can stare into Zayn's eyes with that intense look of his that could bring anyone to their knees. "If Melisende hadn't given us the land, there would still be war. Only we would be at a disadvantage. You _know_ it, you've said it a million times so stop this. Besides, your Mother gave you half the France. All my Mother ever gave me was the world's worst step-father."

"Babe," Zayn lets out a soft laugh and reaches out for Harry's hand. "Don't be so harsh on your Mother. It wasn't all her fault."

"It wasn't," Harry sighs. "But Warwick would've brought about my death. If we hadn't met, I would've died in the war. And If I haven't had him executed when he killed our son, he would've tried again. And I would've been the only target."

"Good thing he's dead and buried then," Zayn breathes out. "We need to end this war, Haz. I don't know how. I won't let us attack unprovoked. We can't do it like that."

"We will figure it out," Harry says quietly. "We always do. Just a few more months. Then we will go back home."

"You know we have to travel around here and visits all those annoying ass nobles before, right?"

Harry laughs. "Yes. Don't worry about it. We have survived worse things. I thought you were dead for about two whole hours, it doesn't get much worse than that."

"Unless I actually die," Zayn teases his. Upon Harry's horrified look, Zayn pulls him in, kissing his neck. Somehow, Harry's in his lap within seconds, his hands on his shoulders as he leans down to kiss Zayn on the lips.

"Does your shoulder still hurt?" Harry asks then, aware of his fingers being close to the scar.

"Not really, no," Zayn shakes his head a little. "It's been months. Well, sometimes if I train for too long I can feel these kinds of pulses of pain but it doesn't always happen. After all, I had someone with very good fingers fussing over it and applying all kinds of creepy salve on it."

Harry blushes. "I didn't want you to die, you fool. It could have got infected. I'm sorry I care about your wellbeing, Your Highness."

"I know, love," Zayn smiles and wraps his arms around Harry's waist tighter.

Harry's smile drops gradually, one of his hands cupping Zayn's cheek, his thumb caressing his cheekbone. "Please wake me up next time you have a nightmare like this. I want to be here for you. We're in this war together. We share the same fears. God knows how long I prayed the day I thought you were dead. I would not be able to live without you. I would've taken my own life if I lost you and we didn't have children."

"Don't say that," Zayn shakes his head gently, rubbing Harry's sides, the naked skin like the softest silk on his hands. "And I'll try, alright? That's all I can promise now."

"Then it's enough," Harry whispers and joins their lips together.

xxx

After the last battle, they let Agnes more or less handle the inside workings of ruling a province in a Kingdom while they still remain the public figures and fancy entertainers for the nobility. They want her to get used to the running of things while they're still there and can help her. They set up a small Privy Council meant just for the matters of French England, as they settled on calling the province that. Frederick will stay in Bordeaux as an official ambassador. Even if they trust Agnes, they need someone from back home. They will probably end up sending someone else down too but for now, there are enough people from their court at Windsor because of the war. There will be time to deal with all this once it's peace again.

In early April, Zayn inconspicuously makes his way down to Agnes' study.

"Hello, how are you doing, Cousin?" Zayn asks rather cheerfully, sitting down in the chair opposite Agnes' desk.

"It's nearly midday and you just left your chambers?" Agnes barely looks away from her papers as she teases Zayn. "Can you not flaunt you and your husband's boyish ways when I'm working hard for your Kingdom."

Zayn's cheeks go red as he clears his throat. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I came in to see if you needed any help with anything. Or even just company. These administrative tasks can get rather full really quickly."

Agnes sighs quietly as she leans back in her chair and stretches her arms. "Harry ditches you and now you think about running the state?"

"He's with the kids," Zayn chuckles. "And no, I genuinely am wondering. It's my Kingdom after all. I've got to make sure you're not doing something silly."

Agnes lets out a laugh. "Such as?"

"I don't know, inviting the King of Sweden to court," Zayn waves a hand. "He's old and mean. Like, genuinely mean. He was at court a couple of years ago and he's lucky he walked out of there alive. First of all, he tried to convince me to marry his daughter, who was forty at the time, mind you. And then he got all pissy because Harry didn't go to the hunt that we had so graciously organised for him to welcome him in our Kingdom. Cassian was barely two weeks old at the time!"

"Oh," Agnes frowns. "Alright, I'll know now not to be too amicable with Sweden in case they get any ideas. But you can rest assured, I was just dealing with some correspondence regarding trade. We got to keep most of our imports and exports the same, despite having a different political allegiance now. Your good relationship with Florence certainly helped keep the cloth trade intact."

"I'm glad to hear that," Zayn nods. "We can't lose anything significant because then the house of cards will just start falling one by one. If we lose trade just because this is technically England now, the people, and the nobility will start to harbour some hard feelings for the change in rule."

"There is one thing, though," Agnes sighs and opens a drawer, digging around for a document of some kind. "It's more of a local problem. There is a village nearby. Le Nizan. We have received a handful of complaints from the local church and other citizens. Apparently, the entire village is pagan. They have stolen a goat from a family in Aubiac, among other things. I will have someone investigate it, I just thought that you should know."

"Oh?" Zayn says as he takes the letters from Agnes, looking over it and seeing things that sound more than ridiculous. "You know what? Harry and I will check it out later today. We wanted to go on a ride after lunch, either way, this isn't very far. Perhaps us getting there will get rid of the problem sooner. Surely, they will be more grounded by the presence of the heads of the Kingdom rather than some government officials."

"Are you sure?" Agnes frowns. "It sounds risky."

Zayn rolls his eyes and puts the letter back on the desk. "What are they gonna do? Curse us? We'll be nice, don't worry."

The door opens then, a voice speaking right away.

"Agnes, do you reckon we should- Oh, hello."

Zayn turns around in his chair and sees Frederick, still as a statue by the door. He raises his brows at his best friend, a smirk appearing on his lips as Frederick goes red in the face.

"Hello, indeed, my friend," Zayn says languidly. "Did you have some business with Agnes? I was just about to leave."

"Oh no, I was just wondering if, uhm, Her Grace had the, eh, reports, I gave her," Frederick stumbles over his words. "About the, um, wine trade. With, uh, Bohemia. Yes. That is what I wanted."

"Of course," Zayn grins at him, turning around to see Agnes vehemently ignoring his questioning gaze. "Agnes, how does the wine trade look?"

"I do not have them here," Agnes says, her eyes down before she very briefly looks at Frederick. "Please, come by later."

"Of course," Frederick nods, already turning on his heel. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Frederick," Zayn calls behind him before facing his cousin once again. "So. You and Frederick. That's interesting. How did that happen?"

Agnes subtly rolls her eyes, shuffling the letters around her desk. "Please. Not everyone finds the love of their life at the age of eighteen as you did."

"That's true," Zayn agrees. "But that's not stopping you from finding it at twenty-six."

"Frederick is a distraction and a good lay, that's all," Agnes says quickly, giving Zayn a pointed look. "I know you're a romantic or whatever, but this is not the case. So don't start discussing this with Harry and subtly planning our wedding. It's not happening. Plan for the war... or something."

"If I think about nothing but the war, I will go insane," Zayn says plainly. "That applies to you too, Cousin."

"That's why I'm fucking Frederick," Agnes singsongs. She looks up at Zayn shortly and shrugs. "I told you. Distraction."

Zayn takes a long look at her. "Agnes..."

"Zayn...?" Agnes quirks her eyebrow at him. Her dark hair covers her face for a second before she pushes it behind her ear.

"Would it be so horrible if you two had something real?"

"Like a marriage?" Agnes scoffs and goes back to writing. "Like that time you tried to marry me off to Poland?"

"I wanted to protect you from Mathieu!" Zayn defends his rather questionable decision. "You would've been safe in Poland."

"Well, spectacular job on that front," Agnes remarks as she writes. "I'm _so_ safe now with the war and everything."

Zayn gives her a look. "You sound like our Grandmother right now."

"Thank God her and not my Mother," Agnes chuckles. "Haven't you got a pagan village to visit?"

"Fine, I'll get out of your hair," Zayn playfully rolls his eyes as he stands up. "By the way, I'm not letting this go."

"Don't tell anyone," Agnes look up at him sternly. "I'm serious. Not even Harry."

"Fine," Zayn sighs. "But think about it."

Agnes doesn't say anything else as Zayn leaves the room. And that is basically an invitation to tease Frederick about it later.

xxx

"I have gossip."

"Oh?" Harry quirks his eyebrow and walks his horse closer to Zayn's as they make they way down the road. "About whom?"

"Agnes and Frederick are sleeping together."

"What?" Harry lets out a breathy chuckle. "No, you're fucking with me. Really?"

"Really," Zayn laughs. "I went to her study today when you were with the kids to see if there was anything she needed help with and Frederick just came in there, being all casual and not using her proper titles. When he saw me he went as red as a poppy flower."

"That's nice," Harry muses as their horses keep galloping leisurely. "I think they're a good fit."

"Don't tell either of them you know," Zayn warns him. "I promised Agnes I wouldn't tell you."

"My lips are sealed," Harry laughs. "Wait, where are we going?"

"To Le Nizan," Zayn says. "Agnes told me today that there have been multiple complaints about them. Apparently, they all turned pagan and have been stealing goats and shit from people."

"Oh no," Harry stops his horse. "Not paganism. I thought I was done with it once my Mother left court. Zayn, please, we should turn around and head back. Nothing good will come out of it. You don't mess with paganism."

"Love, we are not messing with it," Zayn explains. "We are just going to politely tell them to stop committing crimes against their neighbours. I will not prosecute them because of some ancient religion. God will sort this mess out once they all die. I'm not a priest to be telling people what to believe in."

"But you are a Catholic King, my love," Harry sighs. "Do you want all the French sceptics to think that we're pagan now? I narrowly missed that connection back home with my Mother."

"No one will think anything," Zayn argues. "We can also visit Aubiac and Mazéres and pretend like we're just visiting the neighbouring villages. It will be alright."

Harry sighs deeply. "Fine. But the second they start to do _anything_ suspicious, we are leaving. I have had my share of strange experience with pagans and I drew a line behind all of them years ago. I'm not adding more to the count."

"Alright, love," Zayn gives him a small, reassuring smile. "I promise you we will stay safe."

Once they reach the village, it looks completely normal. There is a handful of dark, wooden houses, a few barns and what looks like a small church. All religious symbols have been removed from it though.

The people walking around and doing normal daily tasks stop and stare at them. Zayn and Harry share a look, before they climb off of their horses. No one approaches them.

"We mean no harm to you," Zayn says carefully. "Who is the chief of this village?"

It's utterly strange. There is not a single place where Zayn and Harry have some and didn't have the people bowing and trying to approach them. All of these people are staring at them as if they were some other beings, coming to attack them. Someone runs to the house in the far back near the trees. Zayn and Harry share a weirded out look.

The man comes back promptly and says, "The Elder will see you."

"What the-?" Zayn whispers, looking at Harry. But Harry just shakes his head quickly and mutters, "Don't ask. Come on."

They walk to the house and once they reach the door, the people seem to go back to normal. It's disturbing.

"Go first," Harry says sternly. "You wanted to come here."

Zayn just gives Harry a look but Harry's completely unreadable, his face blank and still. Once Zayn opens the door, they're hit by an otherworldly combination of scents.

There is an old woman standing by a long table in the middle of the room. The house is basically just that one room, with a large fireplace. There is a bed in one corner and a small kitchen in the other. And there are shelves. Loads of them, all filled with bottles and books and parchments. Zayn doesn't necessarily believe in witches but if he were to imagine what one's house looks like, it would be this.

"Your Highnesses," the old woman croaks, bowing her head. Her long, white hair is tied back by a ribbon. She is wearing a simple, dark brown dress with no garnish whatsoever. Her feet are bare. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"We have been alerted by some of the people from neighbouring villages that your village has been causing them trouble," Zayn says, trying to keep his voice calm and level. "Theft is a crime. So is your religion."

"Ah," the old woman puts her right hand on the table and leans against it while looking at them both. "The Old Gods have been here longer than your precious Christianity, Your Highness. Your husband would know. He has seen The Light."

Harry takes a ragged breath. "What are you talking about? I am a good Christian."

The old woman waves her fingers as she shrugs gently. "You may be. But your Mother isn't, is she? She tried to make you see the truth but you resisted. It takes a strong will to reject the Gods, I will allow that. If you did not, your son could have been saved, I want you to know that. Do not fight against what you know is right. Your imagined God will never help you."

"Shut up!" Harry raises his voice. "You do not know a thing about me or my Mother or my children. Are you trying to trick us? Is this a plot by Mathieu? Because this is not going to work."

"Not at all, Your Highness," the old woman shakes her head, her eyes clear. "I am trying to help you. Le Nizan is loyal to you both. I want to warn you."

"Warn us about what?" Zayn dares to ask, his breath shallow.

The old woman walks around the table, just a few steps closer to them. "There is danger coming your way."

"We are at war with France," Zayn tries not to laugh at this. "Of course we are in danger constantly."

But the old woman just shakes her head. "This is unlike anything you have faced before. Watch out for your children, keep them close."

"That's enough," Harry stays sternly and grabs Zayn's hand, tugging him towards the door. "I draw the line at threatening our children. We are leaving."

"You will need my help," the old woman says as they open the door. "Come to me and you shall find it. No one else will help you."

Zayn looks at her strangely before Harry grips his hand so hard he could break it. As they walk quickly towards their horses, Harry mutters, "I fucking told you this would end up badly."

xxx

They went straight to the castle after that strange encounter with the pagan woman. Harry barely spoke to Zayn the whole time and ultimately, Zayn does regret coming there. Still, the whole thing felt strange. How would the woman know about Juliana and Harry's past with the old religions? They have kept everything about that hidden away from the gossiping nobility.

That feeling only strengthens once they enter the castle and it's total chaos.

"Your Highnesses," Lord Halifax runs up to them just a few steps behind the gates. "There has been an attack."

"What?" they say at the same time.

"Here? On the castle?" Zayn asks, shaking his head in disbelief. "What happened?"

Lord Halifax looks down at the floor. "A small group of disguised soldiers breached the gates and wreaked havoc around the castle. They wanted to get you two but since you were not here... they attacked Agnes and-"

"And what?" Harry barks.

"I am incredibly sorry, Your Highness," Lord Halifax dares to raise his eyes. "They took Princess Philippa, Prince Cassian and their nursemaid. Claudia, I believe."

Zayn's head starts spinning once the words leave Lord Halifax's mouth. This can't be happening. Anything but the children. They don't deserve to be wrapped up in this mess.

"Was it Mathieu?" Harry asks, his voice loud and chilling.

"We believe so, Your Highness," Lord Halifax nods dejectedly. "They left a note."

Lord Halifax scrambles around in his pockets and hands Harry a folded up piece of parchment.

"'Return Aquitaine to us and your children shall live'," Harry reads out loud. "'You have three days to send a rider to the border where the last battle took place with your declaration of forfeit and war reparations worth three large trunks of gold. If you fail to comply with our orders both your children will die and their heads will be sent to you.' Fucking hell, do they really think they can get away with this? Have you started a search?"

"We are gathering the men, Your Highness," Lord Halifax replies. "We had two riders following them and we are waiting for them to return and give us more insight about their location."

"Send out half the men right now," Zayn orders. "Have them go in the general direction that the men went and have them search every house, barn, any dwelling they encounter."

"Will do, Your Highness," Lord Halifax bows shortly and walks away quickly.

"Babe," Zayn breathes out and turns to Harry, trying to touch him in any way but not knowing how. He is all thorns and spikes now, protected and concealed, unapproachable. "Are you alright?"

"No," Harry shakes his head, his jaw set tight. "I won't let that fucking snake get away with this. War is one thing but he has crossed the line."

"We will find them," Zayn says. "You know we will."

"We will," Harry agrees numbly. "And then I will kill whoever dared touch them with my bare hands if I have to."

He then turns around and starts walking away from Zayn rapidly.

"Where are you going?" Zayn yells after his, defeated.

"To find out where they are," Harry replies without looking back and gets lost in a doorway.

Zayn watches as Harry leaves to go God knows where. He knows Harry isn't stupid enough to go look after them on his own. It hurts him to let Harry go alone wherever he's going but Harry has built a wall higher than on any castle and for safety, built a moat around it too and filled with monsters. Zayn knows him as well as himself so he knows it would be a futile effort to talk to Harry now. It would only end in another pointless fight.

Instead of running after him, Zayn sends a guard to tail Harry, in case Mathieu's men were lurking around and trying to surprise him. In the meantime, he decides to see Agnes.

xxx

It's almost sundown by the time Harry returns. He quickly walks into the drawing room in their chambers, where Zayn is meeting with the chief of guard, as well as Lord Dudley.

"Have you got the men ready?" Harry asks Lord Dudley on the threshold to their bedroom.

"Yes, Your Highness," Lord Dudley replies promptly. "We are ready to ride as soon as dawn breaks in."

"That's too late," Harry says stubbornly. "We are leaving before sundown."

"But, Your Highness-"

"It's my children who are gone, Lord Dudley, not yours," Harry interrupts him, his voice eerily calm. "Follow your orders or you will hang."

Then Harry's gone, shutting the door to their bedroom without another word.

"Excuse us," Zayn says quickly, standing up and following Harry. Once he gets to their room and closes the door, he says through his teeth, "Where the hell were you? Are you bleeding?"

Harry hides his left hand, his palm clearly painted red with blood. "It's nothing. I know where they are. We need to go."

"How do you know?" Zayn walks closer to him. "And how did you get that cut on your hand?"

"It doesn't matter, Zayn," Harry sighs and wipes his hair away from his face. "All that matter right now is finding our children and bringing them back home. Nothing else."

"Harry, we can't mindlessly go somewhere and waste time and resources to go in the wrong direction and risk our children's lives," Zayn sighs. "Please, babe, let it wait until the morning. Trying to go somewhere when it's dark is useless and dangerous."

"It isn't," Harry argues. "They're in Fargues. It's half an hour by a horse. We can be there before sundown if we leave quickly enough."

"Haz-"

"Do you trust me?" Harry asks, his eyes sharply focused. "Do you fucking trust me?"

Zayn relents after a moment. "I do. You're who I trust the most in the world."

"Good. Because I would have trusted you in a situation like this," Harry nods once and turns around, walking towards a side table with pitchers of wine and water. "Then we will go. Arm yourself, I don't expect a warm welcome. How is Agnes? Is she alright?"

Harry pours the water on his wound over a bowl of fruits, the blood staining the water pink. Then he wraps a white handkerchief around his palm, almost leisurely.

"Agnes is fine," Zayn replies while watching Harry move around the room. "They tried to slit her throat but she defended herself. She has a few cuts but it's nothing too serious."

"At least some relatively good news," Harry sighs, turning to Zayn again. "No one died."

"Harry, can you please tell me what you did?" Zayn pleads.

"I will tell you once I know our children are safe."

xxx

They get to Fargues quickly, their horses panting and the sky washed over with shades of orange and pink as the sun sets. Zayn doesn't have a clue who Harry tracked down to get this information but as they get near the village, they spot a man with the crest of the French King on his armour patrolling the area. He's shot in the neck by an archer before he has the chance to spot them.

This could be a decoy, Zayn wonders, but it's too great a risk not to take. If it is indeed a trap, then they will just kill the soldiers and interrogate the rest and get to their children. But if not, then their children are _somewhere _in this small village and they will get them even if they had to kill so many people the stream nearby would turn red with all the blood.

Harry has completely closed himself off. The only thing getting to surface is his anger. It nearly makes Zayn sick because he knows how much pain Harry must be pushing back right now. He did it when he went and stabbed Warwick in the dungeon in Windsor, merely an hour after nearly dying himself and losing their child. After Juliana had left court, he was like this for a while before he broke down and admitted that he wished she had taken responsibility for her actions, of favouring war and religion and a stranger over her own son.

"We should split up into pairs," Lord Dudley says. "Leave our horses here. We need to be as quiet as possible, there are more patrols around the village."

When they're all off their horses, Harry turns to Zayn and says, "Come with me. Please." His face is softer now, the anger laced with sadness and fear.

"Of course," Zayn replies and they start walking. There is nothing else that needs to be said. They get it. They both feel the same way. It's their children's lives on the line here. They can't make a single mistake. There is no way of knowing if there is not a system put in place that would result in the children's death once their location has been compromised.

The village is really just a few houses together, not even with a church. A couple of farm animals are near one edge.

"We should go to that one in the back," Harry says quietly as they sneak between the houses. "There are two patrols while all the other houses are unguarded. It's the best shot."

"You're right," Zayn says, eyeing the two men walking around with swords. At least they could've grabbed a fucking crossbow. "I'll get the one on the right, you get the other one."

Harry nods quickly, taking out a dagger from his boot. "Let's go."

Only daggers in their hands, they move as quietly as they can, ducking and stopping to keep themselves out of sight. Once the man has his back to Zayn, he doesn't hesitate and slits his throat without a shadow of a doubt. He wipes his dagger on the grass and walks to the door quietly. He doesn't risk being seen, he only waits for Harry.

And Harry does come in a moment, his dagger now sheated and his sword in his hand. They share a knowing look, understanding what has to be done now.

The door is then opened and they step in, finding a man with a dagger in his hand, holding Claudia, the blade to her throat.

"Don't fight me, you little slut," he barks. He then looks up, a flash of recognition in his eyes when he sees Zayn and Harry and he wordlessly slits Claudia's throat, throwing her shaking body down on the ground as he moves to the corner.

And there are Philippa and Cassian, both with tearstained faces, looking at their parents without making a sound, fearing for their life.

The man grabs Philippa by her hair, making her scream out in pain. "One more step and she dies."

Zayn and Harry are frozen. Their blood had turned to thick goo upon hearing their children cry and essentially beg for their lives. This can't be happening.

"If you draw a drop of blood of her I will strip your skin down, cut your cock off and pour salt all over you," Harry says, almost casually. "Let her go. Let her go and you will get to keep your life."

"You will not fool me," the man scoffs and rattles Philippa, making her cry out louder. "Neither of you. Your bastards will die. They will never sit on your stolen throne. Never!"

Zayn still has his dagger in his hand and his mind moves quickly. The man's eyes are aimed at Harry, not him. And he doesn't hesitate as he throws the dagger. It lands on target, right in the space between the man's shoulder and breast.

The room erupts in a flurry of movement as Philippa breaks free, the man screaming in pain and letting his grip falter. She runs to Cassian and they cower into a corner, their eyes shut as they sob.

With three long strides, Harry's in front of the man, stabbing him with his sword. Then he savagely cuts him open and lets him drop in the floor, a disgusting pile of man and blood and guts. He doesn't give him any regard, dropping his sword along with his body and walking to Philippa and Cassian.

Zayn joins him there after quickly checking if Claudia is alive, finding that she isn't. He kneels in front of Philippa and Cassian next to Harry, listening as Harry tries to coax them to open their eyes.

"Sweethearts, everything is alright now," Harry says in a quiet voice. "Daddy and Papa are here, no one will hurt you. Can you open your eyes for me, please? There is nothing to be scared of, loves. We're here. You're safe. We are taking you back home."

"Is the bad man gone?" Philippa asks in a small voice, her eyes still shut close.

"He is, honey," Zayn says when Harry takes too long to reply. Harry then shots him a worried look, painfully aware of the two dead bodies in the other corner, one of them the man he killed himself. He is no longer hidden behind those impenetrable walls. There is a vulnerability to his expression. The fear and relief too. Tears trying to break free.

Philippa then carefully opens her eyes and Zayn prays they are shielding the dead bodies from her sight. She's far too young to see a man's guts lying on the floor outside of his body.

As she looks up at them, that's when Harry lets out a small sob and wraps their children in a hug. After a moment, he pulls Zayn into it too with one arm, still crying. When Zayn finally has their children next to him, he can't keep in the tears that were somewhere near his eyes since the moment Lord Halifax told them the children have been taken.

They stay huddled there together on the floor, not knowing where one person ends and the other begins. Just the four of them in an embrace, the two adults crying their eyes out while the children hang onto their Fathers for dear life.

The fear then finally dissipates, knowing that Philippa and Cassian are alive and well, there with them. And they both know they will not let them out of their sight for a long time.

"Your Highnesses," comes from the open door.

Zayn quickly wipes his face, Cassian still clinging onto him as he turns to the door, seeing Lord Dudley standing there.

"What is it?"

Lord Dudley looks down for a moment before looking straight into Zayn's eyes again. "We found bodies, Your Highness. Presumably, it's the whole village. They were all in the barn by the stream."

"Did you find any more of Mathieu's men?" Zayn asks.

"Yes," Lord Dudley replies. "Two more were killed and we have taken one in for questioning. We are not sure he will talk, Your Highness."

"Then make sure he will talk," Zayn says. "He would die either way. It doesn't matter if it's here or in the castle. Regardless of that, we are putting an end to this war."

"Can you please take the bodies out of the room?" Harry asks then, Philippa pressed against his chest. "I don't want the children to see."

"Certainly, Your Highness," Lord Dudley bows his head and promptly, he has a couple of men taking out Claudia's lifeless body out of the room, before gathering up that man and his spilt guts and taking his corpse out too. Zayn and Harry make sure the children don't look there. They can't know for sure if they haven't already seen it but at least they can try. Besides, Philippa and Cassian know what happened. Even if they hadn't seen a thing, they've heard all of it.

"Are you ready to go back?" Harry asks them then in the soft voice that is reserved only for Philippa and Cassian. "You can stay with me and Papa tonight, how does that sound? You can stay for as long as you want, babies. We can play with your toys and we can take you to ride on the ponies. Would you like that?"

"Do you think we could play with Possie?" Philippa asks, looking up at Harry.

"Oh, darling," Harry sighs, his fingers playing with Philippa's hair. "Possie is back in England. But she has friends here? We can have one of them come around for a visit, hm?"

"Alright," Philippa nods and leans her face against Harry's chest again. "I want to go back."

"Of course, baby," Harry says and kisses the top of her head. He stands up with her and has her sit on his hip. Cassian has almost fallen asleep against Zayn's chest as he held him so he's easy to be picked up, not fussing around as he usually does when they try to pick him up these days.

Since they have to ride back to the castle with the children, each of them with one on their horse too, the ride back takes a lot longer. It's well after dark when they finally get to the castle's gate, a time at which Philippa and Cassian are usually asleep.

It only clicks then, that both of the nursemaids that the children had in the castle are gone. Claudia was murdered today and Angelique was fired for her incompetence. They absolutely don't trust any odd servant with their children so without even discussing it, they automatically take Philippa and Cassian into their chambers.

After the horrible day they all had, Zayn and Harry want the children to take a bath but it's quite impossible since they fell asleep on the ride to the castle. So they only change them out of their filthy clothes into clean nightgowns and set them down to sleep in the middle of their bed.

When Philippa and Cassian are asleep, they look peaceful, calm. As if nothing that went down today actually happened. It could have been a bad dream for all they know.

But the blood on Zayn and Harry's hands says otherwise.

When they've washed it off and got ready for bed, all barricades fall apart and away. They're not Kings in the moment, just two men who are worried sick about their family. The Crown doesn't matter, not if their children aren't safe.

"Babe," Zayn says quietly, touching Harry's waist varily as Harry stands at the feet of their bed, watching Philippa and Cassian sleep. He's got his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, worrying the skin between them. "We should sleep. It was an awfully long day."

To Zayn's surprise, Harry turns around and wraps himself around him. His hands snake around Zayn's waist, holding him so tight it feels like mild suffocation but a respite at the same time.

"I was so fucking scared," Harry whispers, his lips gently catching on the skin of Zayn's neck. "I thought I would never feel worse than when I thought you had died but the hanging threat of my babies dying? It wouldn't be able to live with myself if we hadn't found them."

It comes to Zayn, then. Harry promising him he will tell him what he did to find them once Philippa and Cassian were safe again. But it doesn't feel right to ask in the moment. Frankly, Zayn doesn't even care. As long as Philippa and Cassian are here with them, alive and healthy, that's all that matters, really.

"I know," Zayn sighs softly, rubbing Harry's back. "I swear my heart stopped working for a moment when we found out. They're so young, they didn't deserve this."

Harry pulls away a little bit, not holding onto Zayn's forearms. "They didn't. That's why Mathieu and Pierre will pay for this. We'll give it a few days and then we will plan our revenge. This war ends _now._ Since it started, I have thought I lost both you and our children. I don't want to find myself fighting for my life in the next battle too. There won't be another one. It's over."

"It is," Zayn nods and touches Harry's cheek tenderly. "We can't risk our family anymore. I could not live without you, my love. And I can't even think about what it would've been like if we hadn't found Philippa and Cassian. We are ending this war. And I don't care if we have to fight dirty. Kidnapping our children crossed all the lines there were and there is no place for honour now."

Harry looks into Zayn's eyes, determination shining in them before kissing him. It doesn't lead anywhere, not with Philippa and Cassian there but they need each other. They will win this war together. No matter what it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER rollercoaster of emotion!!!! I'm sorry guys :( Let me know your thoughts about all this!
> 
> What do you think Zarry will do???
> 
> PLEASE do leave some feedback, this is a very long chapter and your support is basically driving this story forward ❤️  
Thank you SO MUCH for giving this story the time of your day, I incredibly appreciate it ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️


	6. six.

_April 1494 - Bordeaux, French England_

Planning a battle is never easy. Especially since you want to end a war with it. Now it isn't only about the troops, about the strategy like it was when they knew there were more days of fighting and blood and death ahead of them. This time, they're determined to end _everything._ Peace treaties need to be drawn up, compromises considered. Pierre isn't a weak King, at least not on paper. He's lost allies but he still has resources and political power. They know they can't kill him and take over all of France. It would so quickly turn the whole of Europe against them. No one likes a neighbour too powerful. Everyone around would think they want to swallow Europe whole and have everything be England. But they're not foolish, they know this would never work. Even the great Roman Empire fell apart after it got too big. Greediness is nothing but a quick way to destruction.

In the past three weeks since the children had been abducted, Zayn and Harry held what feels like a million meetings about their plans and strategy and regrettably, they haven't gotten far enough. They can't keep feeding the monster that is the war. They need to end it. Last time they ended a war it was quite easy, all they had to do was get married and squabble with Melisende for a while. Ending a war with France is worlds away, that's how different it is.

They're seated in the small council chamber with Philippa and Cassian, waiting for yet another meeting. Since their kidnapping, they've been wary about who they trust their children with. They're always guarded and with someone, they can trust, if their parents are busy. Of course, poor Claudia didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping, she even lost her own life because of it but trying to find a new nursemaid in this situation is risky. They can never know if Mathieu isn't trying to get a spy on the inside of the castle. So Zayn and Harry's solution has been taking care of their children themselves, with the help of some people they can trust. A good chunk of it was difficult. Such simple things they never had to bother with such as bathing them, feeding them or even dressing them. Philippa and Cassian are still little and quite fussy and at times, both Zayn and Harry have lost patience with them and called for the nursemaids of some other children residing at the castle to help them out. They love their children with all their hearts but they're Kings for God's sake. They don't have the hours of the day to spend trying to dress their children into uncomfortable clothes. Or to get them to eat peas.

"Did you like the ponies?" Harry asks Cassian, who's sitting in his lap and playing with wooden figurines of horses on the table. They're meant to stand for the cavalry on the map while they plan their strategy but they can be multipurpose. "Which one was your favourite?"

"I like Cidre," Cassian says. "He is all black and makes funny noises."

"He does, doesn't he?" Harry smiles down at him. "We can go ride them again today, after the meeting, love."

"Papa?"

Zayn's pulled back from watching Harry and Cassian at the head of the table by Philippa's voice. He got stuck today with the more boring task of helping Philippa with her studies. It does get dull sometimes but Harry and Cassian proved to be quite pleasant entertainment.

"Yes, honey?" Zayn turns to her. Philippa is slightly pouting over her parchment and books.

"I don't understand these numbers," she says, pushing the parchment towards Zayn. "Why should I count one here when it's not there?"

Zayn sees what they have her studying and he feels mildly disgusted. He hated maths when he was still studying himself. However, this is a bit too much for Philippa. She's far too young to this kind of mathematics. But Harry insists on all these teachers for her and she is going to be the Queen one day, hopefully not anytime soon. At least she's not in an abbey somewhere studying with monks like her Fathers were.

So Zayn just sighs, puts his and maths' difference behind them and helps his daughter with that infernal device.

Soon enough, there is a knock on the door before it's opened and Lord Dudley comes in.

"Your Majesties," he bows. "The hour has come for the council meeting, if we may."

Zayn watches as Harry's face drains of all the happiness, the smile that he had for Cassian just moments ago replaced by a hard line. He takes Cassian out of his lap and puts him on the floor, calling for a guard to take him to the children's room, along with Philippa. In a matter of seconds, he's not a Father anymore but a King, ready to fight a war.

Quickly, the room fills in with the rest of their Privy Council they have in Bordeaux. It's not too many people, and some valuable additions such as Melisende and Helen are missing but it's better than nothing.

They spend God knows how much time talking about the same things they have for weeks. Our army is too weak. We can't ask anyone for more troops. It's too risky. We need to wait. And so on and so on. It's tired, it's fucking exhausting and Zayn just wants it to be over. He wants to be back in Windsor, ruling peacefully over his Kingdom and living his life with his family. Not think about waging a war. Not think about strategies and ways how to spare the most lives they can, even if they know that it's inevitable that more souls will be lost.

"I want him hung, drawn and quartered!" Harry yells and hits the table with his palm. "I do not fucking care what you think is right. I will not negotiate with a man that nearly killed my children and is responsible for the death of thousands of our people. I am not letting this war drag on and on and on until suddenly, we are dead and Philippa is left with a war to wage with Pierre's son. I grew up in a war that nearly ruined England and I am not letting another one sprout and fester during my rule. What if we just fucking go there and kill them? Problem solved!"

Everyone is quiet at the table, too fed up with this endless circle of failure and desperation. Zayn thinks about what Harry just said. It'd be ideal if they could just kill their enemies without a battle and move on with their lives. What if they could?

"Hold on, that is not a bad idea," Zayn says. "We _could_ go to Pierre's court to Chateau d'Amboise, surround them, ambush them and if they do not give up we attack them. Or we can attack right away, that place is not fit for war. It has no garrisons, no walls, no moat. He would not have his army there but neither would we."

"Your Majesty," Lord Dudley lets out an offended breath. "We cannot do that. It is not a battle. You cannot win a war like that. It is... cheating. Sneaking off and killing your enemies like that is cowardice."

"Is saving countless lives that would die in vain cowardice, Lord Dudley?" Zayn asks him. "Besides, they have already played dirty when they kidnapped our children and demanded we give them what they want if we ever want to see our children again. We are not monsters, we would never do the same thing for it is vile and putrid. We have won all the battles so far. This is kindness."

"It would take less time for a small group of riders to get to the other side of France than an army," Harry says then. "We could be there in a week, maybe less. An army would take a long time and still, we would not be guaranteed victory because our army has suffered significant losses. Without Spain's help, we would not have won but now their troops have returned back home. This could save us valuable lives, gold and after we win, we could repay the Medicis almost immediately. It is not in our interest to kill Pierre. Doing that would destabilize Europe even more. Our gambit could pay off and we could end a foolish war quickly."

"Shall we vote?" Frederick asks, looking around the room. Everyone nods, even Lord Dudley. He's the commander of their armies, it is in his interest to try and better himself in their eyes but he knows this is the right decision. Zayn and Harry have him on the privy council for a reason. Having someone who would foolishly push for war just because it's in their interest isn't what they need for their Kingdom.

The motion passes unanimously.

xxx

As April draws to an end, they find themselves outside of Chateau d'Amboise again after almost a decade. It hasn't changed much but the last time Zayn and Harry were here was for a friendly visit. They fucking played tennis with Pierre and his mistress. They had fun, they drunk their wine and danced all night. Now they're here to kill, to end a war, to save their Kingdom.

"They agreed to negotiate, Your Majesties," a messenger says breathlessly from the top of his horse. "They will open the gates if you promise not to kill anyone."

Zayn and Harry exchange a look. Mathieu won't come out of this alive, they're certain of it. Whether he will be beheaded later or killed today, it doesn't matter. They're not mindless brutes, they can forgo the killing for today. As long as the war ends. If they refuse, neither Zayn nor Harry will hesitate to draw a sword out.

They don't get off of their horses until they reach the front door of the Chateau. Multiple guards are standing there, armed and ready to attack if needed. But so are they. They have forty men with them. They're not standing down so easily.

The castle looks a little different than it did the last time. Zayn notices some changes but mostly he sees how empty he is. The last time he walked these halls they were swarming with courtiers, gossiping and laughing, making deals and having affairs. Now there is no one. It's smart, Zayn has to admit. Pierre wasn't exactly ambushed, he must've known they were coming for him. He probably sent everyone away.

Zayn expects to meet Pierre in the throne room but they're all taken to meeting hall with a long table in the middle of it. Pierre is sitting in the middle of one side, Josette next to him. What shocks Zayn is that they have their three children there. Harry shoots Zayn a quick look, the sentiment on their faces the same. What the fuck are they trying to achieve with this?

Mathieu is present as well, of course, he is. He is walking around behind the chairs, stalking like an angry lion.

"What is this?" Harry asks, refusing to sit down. Standing tall in his armour with a sword at his hip, he looks terrifying. "Are you trying to plead for mercy? Because you are not getting it."

Pierre lets out a chuckle, smoothing down his moustache. "You come here, surround us and you come to kill us. What else is left when you have abandoned honour?"

"Honour left the equation of this war the second you kidnapped my children and tried to blackmail us into giving you _our_ land back," Harry spits.

"We want to end the war," Zayn says, leaning on his hand against the back of a chair. "That is all we want. If my cousin had not created this foolish plan that would have ruined both you, Pierre and us too, we did not have to face this problem. We want to offer you a deal."

Mathieu scoffs but he doesn't say anything. Pierre connects his fingers on the table and hums. "A deal, you say? Are you in a position to be offering deals?"

"You thought you were after you had lost a battle," Harry remarks. "Besides, if you do not agree, our army is waiting a few miles away and we are ready to do it the hard way."

Pierre swallows. Zayn then realizes a crucial thing - Pierre didn't know about the army. And he doesn't even try to call their bluff because he knows they're not stupid enough to bluff. It's not entirely truthful though, but they're not stupid enough to take a risk like that. They have an army waiting, just not in its full strength.

"Let us hear it," Pierre waves a hand, trying to be nonchalant. "What if we do not agree to it?"

"Our army will not disappear by that time," Zayn says. "We are not too worried."

Pierre nods a few times, looking down at the table before he lifts his head up again, looking at Zayn first and then at Harry too. Mathieu stays silent but when Zayn meets his eyes, they're full of rage. He probably wishes he could kill both him and Harry and their children too. He seems like he could kill all of England and still not be satisfied.

"You will stop the war immediately, pay reparations for the damage you have done in our territory and Mathieu will be given to us as a prisoner of war for starting this war and for threatening the lives of our children, the heirs to our throne," Zayn says, avoiding Mathieu's gaze. It feels strange because they _are_ family. He remembers how they played together when they were children in Bordeaux and now Mathieu started a war against him.

"Fucking hell, as if I am!" Mathieu yells. "You two started the war! You mobilized your army and attacked us!"

"Your Mother started this war when she fucked my Father and messed with the line of succession," Zayn spits. "You two were planning to kill me for longer than since we first drew our swords on French ground. My Mother found out about your little scheme and when me and Harry fixed it, you threw a fit and started scheming against us. You were never supposed to be a King, Mathieu. You wanted to start your own Kingdom and then what? Take over England? Take over France too? You had nothing without Pierre. You could not do anything without him because only a King can fight a King and you are not one not will you ever be."

It gets a reaction our of Mathieu, certainly. He scowls, taking a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. What Zayn didn't expect is Mathieu drawing his sword and walking around the table to him. The guards don't stop him and Zayn draws his sword too. He didn't want to kill anyone today, truly, but it seems like he has to.

But Mathieu is already at a disadvantage. He's not wearing armour and no one is jumping to his aid. Zayn hears the children screaming as Josette tells them to close their eyes. He would feel sorry for them but his own children had to witness their Father gut a man not that long ago.

Another small detail is that Mathieu doesn't have anyone else on his side. Pierre doesn't even stand up from his chair to go and help him because everyone knows that Mathieu is just a leech and a nuisance to him at this point. But Zayn has Harry too. And he can be sneaky when he wants to.

Zayn walks back strategically so Harry is behind Mathieu, who is too furious to focus on anything except for trying to kill Zayn. He fails to hear to sound of Harry unsheathing his sword behind him. And Zayn can keep eye contact with Mathieu because he knows how Harry fights. He knows he can rely on him.

Before their swords even connect, Zayn looks past Mathieu's shoulder straight at Harry, nodding softly at him. And that's all he needs to take one single step and drive his sword into Mathieu's back.

Zayn has killed before but he has never quite seen someone die the way Mathieu does. His face goes wide in complete shock before he looks down at his chest, where a bloody sword is protruding. He looks at Zayn again, wanting to say something but he only spits up blood before he stumbles, trying to grab a chair and steady himself. It's a useless feat because he falls down quickly, more blood coming out of his mouth before he takes his last breath. The think, goopy blood bubbles around his lips, sputtering for a moment and he's gone. A couple of minutes was all to take a life. But it was a life that causes death and destruction for so many people, for so many families. People lost their sons and daughters on the battlefield. English and French people alike.

"I was under the impression that there was to be no killing today," Pierre says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Am I next? Or are you going to kill my family first?"

"Mathieu attacked first," Zayn says, walking around Mathieu's body so he can stand opposite Pierre. Josette looks alarmed, a toddler boy in her arms, her hand on his face, shielding him from the ugly truth of their world. "We will not kill you or your family. We want peace, Pierre. That is all we have ever wanted, since the moment Harry and I met. It has been nearly a decade since we ended a pointless war back home and now we had to lead another. I am sorry that it had to come to this but there was no other way. We took a lot of land from your Kingdom, that is true but it was always going to be ours. My Mother owned it, it was hers and only because the land had been pledged to your Crown did not mean it would always stay that way. I do not have any siblings so upon my Mother's death, it would have been mine and we would have faced this problem in two decades or so. I do not want us to be enemies, Pierre."

Harry has pulled out his sword out of Mathieu already and joined Zayn when he speaks. "We promise you that we will never attack France again. We can be allies. We can do business together so the market and trade do not suffer because of the division of France. But giving you the land for nothing would have been wrong. After all, that land has been English before. What they call now a hundred years' war. England took over that land but we lost it. We are not here to oppress the people and make them English."

Pierre clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. He looks down at his hand curled into a first that's resting on the table, rings with precious stones adorning his fingers. "France should not be ruled by Englishmen. You have no business being here."

"For God's sake, Pierre," Zayn scoffs. "You and I are the same amount of French. My Mother's bloodline is purely French and I have spent a lot of time here as a boy. We are speaking French right now, bloody hell, not English. And _your_ Mother is English. Or have you forgotten that?"

Pierre's face goes red. "I have not."

"Then what is all the fuss about?" Zayn shakes his head softly. "We are offering you far more lenient conditions than anyone else would. We could take _everything _if we wanted to. Yet here we stand, offering you peace. Offering you an alliance."

"It is not our goal to expand," Harry says. "We have not said a single false word today. We offer nothing but honesty to you. God knows Mathieu deserved what he got. We were honourable and he went and took our children instead of facing us like a man. You have a chance to erase all the bad he did by agreeing to our terms. Think carefully about your answer because this chance will not be offered to you again. If you refuse us, we will end this was with blood and iron."

The room goes so quiet that a dropped needle could be heard against the floor. Even the children are not crying. Josette tries to catch the eye of her husband but he is staring at the ceiling, thinking and thinking and thinking. Zayn would love to know what is going through his head right now. He is pushed into a corner. His accomplice or rather, the "mastermind" behind this foolish gambit has just been killed right in front of his eyes so he knows Zayn and Harry aren't playing around. They _will_ end this war. No matter what it takes. If he wants to save his throne, he can only agree.

"How can I know you will not betray me?" Pierre asks after lowering his sight.

Harry furrows his brows. "Why would we do that? We want to go back home and rule peacefully. We never wanted war. What do we have to gain from betraying you? We offer peace, comradeship in trade and an alliance. Half of what was France is now ours. We cannot be enemies. We cannot culturally tear a country into two. We never wanted that."

"Alright," Pierre sighs deeply, shrugging and linking his hands on the table. "We shall sign off on the peace today. How long do we have to pay for the reparations?"

"Five years," Harry says. "We do not want to economically ruin your country. It is not too much since not much was destroyed, thankfully."

Pierre nods. The room is wrapped in silence before he speaks again. "Shall we strengthen this alliance with a marriage? We have a couple of children between us."

Zayn and Harry look at one another in panic. They would _never_ allow for one of their children to be betrothed to one of Pierre's spawns. Philippa would murder them, probably. She's still very small but rather opinionated.

"Well, they are all still very small," Harry clears his throat. "I have never been a fan of betrothing children. Shall we have this conversation later, when they have grown up a bit?"

"We promise that when we are looking for a right match for our children, we will always think about your children first," Zayn lies. The messiness this union would bring is horrible. The succession to both the English and French throne would be one big maze that no one would be able to figure out and once they are dead and buried, they cannot ensure that one of their grandchildren would not do something _incredibly _stupid. Like, start a war over a crown, perhaps.

"That is fair," Pierre nods. "So this is over then? Peace?"

"Peace," they agree.

They all shake their hands then and immediately, it feels like the world is lighter. At least a little.

xxx

The return to Bordeaux is victorious. People greet them in the streets, some happy that the war is over, some upset they lost their family members, some pissed off that France wasn't put together again. But no matter what, it is a time for a celebration.

They throw a large festival, but still not such a spectacle that would devastate their treasury. There are games, there is a market, there is entertainment and everyone seems happy, at least everyone that comes.

It last a couple of days and they formally appoint Agnes as the governess of the French England, to rule there in their name. The people clearly welcome it but not everyone trusts her, considering she is Mathieu's sister. But with Mathieu now dead, winning them all back won't be so hard.

Zayn feels the guilt seeping in when he sees her for the first time after they return but Agnes doesn't have hard feelings about it. She tells him that she knows he was a traitor and that she carried no love for him in her heart because she knew he never cared about her either. It is hard but there is a pattern of family betraying family. Melisende and Mariota are a clear example. Now Agnes and Mathieu. Zayn hopes it doesn't run in the family because Philippa and Cassian fighting, in a real, serious manner as adults would probably get the world burnt down.

On one of those days, there is a kind of a carnival outside in the gardens of the chateau. There are plays, both for adults and children, mimes, jesters, music and dancing and food and all kinds of fun that the staff organizing it could thing off. And on such a day, after hours of relentless entertainment, Zayn finds Harry alone near a small pond on the compound, standing between tall grass.

"Are you hiding out here?" Zayn says as he approaches Harry. Harry looks at him over his shoulder, smiling at him. It never fails to make Zayn's heart miss a beat. Even after all these years.

"Maybe. Just a little," Harry laughs and reaches out for Zayn. They each end up wrapping an arm around the other's waist and leaning into each other. It always feels like coming home.

"I think we should stay here for a while," Harry says quietly after a long moment of silence. With them it's rarely strained, usually just companionable silence of two people who know and understand each other. "Here in Bordeaux. Not only for the obvious political reasons but I think the children could benefit from it. Learn a bit about French culture, about the people. They will rule over this place as well one day. First-hand experience is always good. Especially at such a young age."

"That's not a bad idea," Zayn hums. "I was also thinking that perhaps Cassian could rule over this bit right here once Philippa ascends to the throne. And then when she has heirs, if she has more than one child then the younger one could continue that tradition. It would cement the power and keep the ruler here well-connected to England."

"Oh, yes," Harry agrees enthusiastically. "That is perfect. And this way, they also won't squabble over the throne. There is nothing more damaging to a monarchy than siblings fighting over the crown."

"Good thing we don't have any then," Zayn chuckles. "I'm sure our marriage wouldn't have been enough to end the war. My Mother would simply disown me and give the Crown to my younger sibling."

"Well, in that case, I'd kill you, stage it as a suicide and marry your sibling," Harry teases. "I go both ways, wouldn't be a problem for me."

"What if they were ugly?" Zayn nudges Harry's hip. "Even then?"

"No chance of that," Harry scoffs. "Beauty runs in your family. I might've married you just to have pretty children but you'll never know for sure."

Zayn laughs brightly, kissing Harry's cheekbone. "You're a menace."

They stand there near the pond, listening to the sounds of the celebration nearby for a while. It's peaceful, watching ducks leisurely move across it, some frogs jumping near the edge. A little respite from the crazy circle of celebrations that have left them busier than ever.

"Can I ask you something?" Zayn breaks the silence after a while.

Harry looks at him, unperturbed by the question. "Of course."

"It's not really a question," Zayn clears his throat. "You went to that pagan lady, didn't you? When our children were kidnapped."

Harry takes in a sharp breath, taking his arm from Zayn's waist and taking a step to the side. He avoids Zayn's unrelenting gaze, staring off into the distance, the back of his head to Zayn.

Eventually, he turns his head slowly and faces Zayn with a stoic expression. "Yes, I did. You won't understand."

"I will," Zayn insists. "How did she find them? Did she work with Mathieu?"

Harry shakes his head softly, not a drop of emotion on his face. "No. You would think I'm insane so I won't tell you anything. I've witnessed enough with my Mother that I had even thought of going to her."

"Love," Zayn sighs, touching Harry's hand gently. "I could never think you were crazy. I know you. I love you. We have been through crazy things together already. And... I'm not stupid, I know some things. Your palm was cut when you got back."

"It was," Harry nods softly, slowly allowing their hands to intertwine. "She used a sort of a... spell to locate them. They're my children, I brought them into this world and we share the same blood so it was enough to find them. I didn't want to believe her. I refused to believe all my life but I have seen things. God, I have seen too many things."

"What do you mean?" Zayn asks warily. He has read about paganism, about magic. But not nearly enough to know whatever Harry has seen first-hand.

"It's all real, Zayn," Harry breathes out heavily, a taxing expression on his face. He looks burdened by it, by the knowledge that could get him executed if the wrong people heard. "All of it. The pagans, the witches. I never wanted to believe it. I didn't. Not until now. I was a boy when I saw most of the things with my Mother. But after the meeting with this woman and after she found Philippa and Cassian, I can't question it. She _knew_ things. I asked her how can I trust her? And then she took my hand, made a small prick in my finger and made some symbol with it on the back of her hand. She told me then. About how I lost our first baby. How you and I met. What I said to you when we first confessed our love. Our first wedding. Everything. She knew things no one except for me knows. And after I had our children with me again, I believed. I believed everything."

Zayn swallows, gathering the courage not to freak out like a spooked child. "Believed what? What else is there?"

"I wish you wouldn't ask," Harry shakes his head slowly, looking at Zayn with a solemn expression. "But you need to know this."

"Thank you for trusting me with this," Zayn says softly, rubbing the back of Harry's hand with his thumb. "I know... it must be difficult."

Harry nods, looking down before he raises his head again. "My Mother was always interested in these kinds of things but it really went downhill after my Father's death. It almost felt like she wanted to bring him back," Harry lets out a pitiful chuckle and shakes his head. "She did these... rituals and seances. She dragged me along to most of them. Usually deep into the woods. I never believed any of it. I'm a God-abiding Christian, right? We went to church, we prayed every day. And then there was this. One time, I thought I had seen my Father's image in the fire but I put it off as exhaustion and grief playing tricks on me. But now I am not so sure."

"Oh God," Zayn breathes out. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"It's fine," Harry dismisses it. "She never did anything worse, at least not with me. Warwick kept me close and had me training all the time and studying. Any spare moment I had I spent in shitty taverns and brothels, or with someone in my chambers. Sometimes she took me to one of her priests, to do a protection spell before a battle, things like that. I went to some pagan celebrations a few times. I remember drinking this sweet thing and then dancing all night. I couldn't stop myself and the world around me was just... warped. Some girls tried to undress me and sleep with me but my Mother dragged me away because she said they do it to bring new blood into the village and I couldn't have bastards running around if I wanted the throne."

"Why have you never told me about it?" Zayn asks, worried now. His heart is unsettled. What else is Harry hiding? What else is weighing down his soul?

"I stopped thinking about it because once after that celebration, Warwick told her I can't participate in anything because your Mother would find out and have me burned at the stake," Harry chuckles sadly. "By the time we met, I stopped thinking about it altogether. I was busy with battles and studying and frankly, trying to kill you."

They both laugh a little, their strange past making an appearance.

"I'm sorry for bringing you to that village," Zayn says, putting his hands on Harry's hips. "I had no clue you had such an... experience with it."

"It's alright, love," Harry dismisses the apology. "I was never hurt by it. And if I hadn't gone to that woman, our children could've been dead now. Although, I have to admit I was worried something would happen because of it once we were married after my Mother got to court. She dragged me out to meet this priest, Silvan, and I couldn't not go with her. I mean, my Mother has messed with some liars. Not everyone could actually _do_ what they claimed they could. They wanted gold. It was just before our coronation. She tried to make me drink fertility potions and whatnot. I didn't, obviously. Your Mother found out."

"Of course, she did," Zayn laughs briefly. "She threatened you with being proclaimed a heretic, right?"

"No, actually," Harry smiles a little. "She helped me."

"So it was then when you two grew closer?"

"Yes," Harry nods. "Along with my first pregnancy. It was hard. Really hard. I didn't even want to _look_ at a child, less alone carry one and bring it into the world. She understood by disdain and fear. I don't think I would've handled it all without her. But regarding... paganism or magic or whatever you want to call it, we need to stay away from it. I could not even guess the true extent of it, of the power these people are able to wield. We can never mess with it again. Promise me you won't try to look into it and find some people. It's not worth it. My Mother changed _completely. _She's a different person than she was when I was a child."

"I promise," Zayn says and kisses the back of Harry's hand. "I would never do anything to put you, to put our family at risk. Besides, I don't want a witch to hex me."

Harry smiles a little at the joke. "So this is home now for a while, it seems," he changes the topic.

"Yes, it seems like it," Zayn sighs, looking around the castle's compound. It's a beautiful place indeed. "We need to get the kids a cat. Philippa won't shut up about Possie."

"It's May, there should be a lot of kittens around," Harry muses. "We should take a look around the barn the next time we go riding. This time of year, there is bound to be a mama cat hiding there with a litter of kittens. We'll keep an eye out for them and once the kittens are big enough, we'll snatch one and give them to our kids."

"I wonder what Possie is up to," Zayn wonders out loud. "I hope she hasn't run away."

"No, she wouldn't," Harry giggles. "Shall we go back? People are looking for us probably."

"We shall," Zayn smiles at him. "There should be a play starting soon."

With the war behind them, their lives seem to put themselves back together. Bordeaux is their home for now and it doesn't feel wrong. Not everyone is here but Windsor is waiting for them. Now it's time for a little change. At least for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the war is over! Alexa, play War Is Over by John Lennon. It's still kinda Christmastime, right?
> 
> This is not the end peeps! Zarry will travel somewhere in the next chapter. What are your guesses????? Let me know!!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this one :)


	7. seven.

_September 1495, Bordeaux, English France_

"Papa, pourquoi dois-je apprendre à monter avec une épée?" Philippa asks._  
_

_Father, why do I need to learn how to ride with a sword?_

"Parce que tu seras la reine d'Angleterre après ma mort," Zayn explains, sheathing his own sword and leading the horse on the main path that leads towards the chateau. "And please, English, Philippa. We will be coming back to England after our visit to Florence. The courtiers can't catch on even a semblance of a French accent."

_Because you will be the Queen of England after I'm dead._

"But that makes no sense," Philippa argues. She's riding a white horse, still young and smaller than the horse Zayn has chosen for the day. "We rule over France as well. And the war has been over for more than a year now. I doubt I will have to fight anyone."

"You never know when war comes your way, beloved," Zayn gives her a look. It's getting harder and harder to come to terms with the fact that Philippa is now seven years old and fully has a mind of her own. Sometimes he fears the days of her adulthood because no one will be able to tame her spirit. Not that anyone should but as a parent, it's scary to an extent, to lose control over your child.

"Will I have to get married?" Philippa asks out of nowhere. "Because I do not want to."

Zayn laughs out of surprise, looking at his daughter. Her face is set and completely serious. She's even frowning a little.

"Well, you should," Zayn settles on saying. "You need heirs to keep the bloodline going. Who will inherit the throne otherwise?"

"Cassian?" Philippa shrugs. "I'm sure he will have children."

"How can you know that?" Zayn asks, trying to subtly make her grasp the concept of succession for the Crown. "He can die before he marries. Or he can marry and remain childless."

Philippa looks deep in thought for a moment. "Alright, perhaps. But I will not marry."

Zayn lets out a chuckle. "Why not? I am happy with your Father. Marriage isn't always bad. Either way, you are too young to be making concrete decisions about it. We won't let any boys even look at you until you are at least sixteen."

"Good, I don't like boys," Philippa says casually, her chin high. "Even Cassian is annoying and he is my little brother, my blood."

"You are too smart, Philippa," Zayn says with a fond smile. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Nothing," Philippa replies confidently. "I can handle myself. Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't Father come with us today?" Philippa wonders, her big green eyes waiting for an answer.

Zayn sighs and averts his gaze. "He has a fever, love," he replies. "He wanted to come but I made him stay in our chambers. We are leaving for Florence soon and I don't want him to get worse. Your Father is a very, very stubborn man. Just as you are, dear."

"Will he die?"

Zayn looks at Philippa in shock, his heart skipping a beat at the horrid notion. "No, of course not. I'd burn the whole world down before letting your Father die. Much less from a fever."

"What is Florence like?" Philippa changes the topic out of nowhere. "Is it bigger than London?"

"No, I don't think it's bigger," Zayn muses, trying to recall the splendid city he saw many years ago now. He remembers how young he and Harry were when they visited. It almost seems like it was a different life than the one they lead now. "It's very beautiful, though. In the centre of the city, there is an enormous cathedral, its dome is big you can see it from miles away. There are huge palaces and it's very lively. I think you will like it."

"Will I need to speak Italian?" Philippa looks up at Zayn with a mildly pained expression. "I am not very good at it."

Zayn smiles a little, reaching over to Philippa and ruffling her hair. "You will be alright. The Medicis speak French and English too but out of courtesy, you should try. They are good friends of ours and allies to England."

"Can we go back now?" Philippa asks. "I'm hungry."

"Of course, darling."

xxx

When Zayn gets back to his and Harry's chambers, he finds Harry sitting in an armchair with a book. His head lifts up from the pages the second he hears the door open.

"How did she do?" Harry asks eagerly in lieu of a greeting, closing his book promptly. "She's more than proficient at riding so I'm sure she wasn't that bad."

"Why aren't you in bed?" Zayn shakes with a smile, coming to Harry and kissing his forehead. It's not as burning as before but still hotter than it should be. "She did great. She had complained a bunch before letting herself fall into it and then she enjoyed the thrill, I could see it. Apart from that, she interrogated me about, well, everything possible and confidently proclaimed that she will never marry."

"That's our girl," Harry smiles, kissing the back of Zayn's hand. "Next time I'm going with you, fever or not."

"Haz, you can't risk your health," Zayn sighs. "We are leaving for Florence soon."

"I'm not dying, Zayn," Harry scoffs and lets go of his hand. Zayn just rolls his eyes and walks to the other side of their bedroom and starts to change out of his clothes as Harry chatters again. "I can handle a bit of fever. It's not plague. Do you want me confined to the bed for months? It will drive me mad. I have not been outside in days. I have not trained in a week. Think about my poor physique!"

"You will have no physique to worry over when you are lying somewhere decomposing in a tomb," Zayn says off-handedly, his back to Harry as he puts on a fresh set of clothes. "People have been dying of a particularly strong fever in the area lately. Just because you are a King doesn't mean you are untouchable."

Harry scoffs. "You sound worse than my Mother," he complains and Zayn hears some rumbling in the background. "I am completely-" his voice is cut off by a loud bang.

Zayn turns around quickly, expecting an overturned side table or something of the sort because as much of a skilled fighter Harry is, once the sword is out of his hands he can have his baby deer moments. What did not even cross his mind was seeing Harry lying on the floor.

"Jesus Christ, babe, fuck," Zayn curses as he walks to him, falling down on the floor and pulling Harry half into his lap. He is struggling to open his eyes but at least he is not unconscious. "Babe, look at me, please."

It takes a while but eventually, Zayn sees the green of Harry's eyes at last, the look drowsy and unfocused. "I'm fine," Harry says right away, attempting to sit up. "I just stood up abruptly and my vision went black for a second then my head started spinning... but I'm fine."

"You are _not_ fine," Zayn says sternly and reluctantly helps Harry stand up, leading him to their bed. "I am calling for the physician. You need medicine, Harry. I will not let you die just because you are as stubborn as a bull."

"Alright," Harry relents as he gets into bed. "But no fucking blood-letting."

Harry complains the whole time before the physician comes. How he's alright, how he doesn't need anything, how a long ride on a horse would've cured him alright. Zayn tunes him out mostly because Harry gets like this anytime he isn't in perfect physical shape. If he survived the strop Harry threw when he wasn't allowed to participate in a round of jousting a month after Cassian was born then he'll survive anything. God forbid Harry's corporeal form behaved like a normal human body.

The examination is quick, even with Harry's attitude that could rebel Cassian's when he doesn't want to go to bed or study, and the physician doesn't look alarmed.

"You need rest, Your Majesty," he says as the searches his bag for something. "A fever is no problem for a healthy adult man like yourself but if taken lightly, it could have terrible ramifications. Such as fainting. Have this put with a cold cloth on your forehead in two-hour intervals. I shall have the servants bring you a herbal remedy and tea in a moment."

Harry takes the small vial of oil and eyes is suspiciously. "Is that all?"

"Well," the physician shifts. "Might I suggest bloodletting? It has wonderful results, Your Majesty. You will be up and running in no time."

"No!" Harry exclaims. "Absolutely not. Over my dead body. You are dismissed."

The physician bows to both of them and quickly departs.

xxx

Zayn feels like half of him is missing when he has to deal with all their royal duties alone. Even if they hold some meetings separately, there is always that time during lunch or in the evening where they talk about what they've done during the day and share information. Not only that, but Zayn is genuinely worried about Harry. His fever is low but stable and ever-present and he can barely keep any food down. Zayn dreads to think about the worst possible outcome but sometimes, late at night, he can hear Philippa's voice in his head. _Will he die?_ Everyone will die at some point but Zayn doesn't think he would survive losing Harry. Not so soon either way. They've been together for just over ten years. They are owed many, many more.

They are due to leave for Florence in a week but Zayn fears they will have to postpone or completely cancel the trip. He'd rather go to England but if Harry doesn't get better, they will have to stay in Bordeaux until he does.

When Zayn is fed up with meeting and annoying, gossiping courtiers, he clears his schedule for the rest of the day and goes to their chambers. A small, intrusive voice in his head is telling him to spend as much time with the love of his life as he can, while he's here.

To his surprise, Harry isn't asleep and is sitting up in bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows. He's reading and eating an apple.

"Oh, hello, love," Harry looks up at Zayn, a forlorn close-lipped smile on his face. "Are you done for the day or are you just checking up on me?"

"I'm done," Zayn says, joining Harry on the other side of the bed. "You look cheery."

"I feel better," Harry says. He's using a finger as a bookmark. "The fever is subsiding."

"I am very happy to hear that," Zayn says, smiling a little as he wiggles a hand around Harry's waist. "I've missed you. Being a King is so dull without you."

"Monarchy works only if you have a very attractive spouse," Harry nods shortly, letting out a laugh. "I can certainly confirm that. Sometimes when I'm bored in a meeting I just stare at you."

"That sounds rather counterproductive," Zayn chuckles and kisses Harry's shoulder, covered only by a thin, white shirt. "Do you think you will be able to travel next week?"

"Yes, I think so," Harry frowns for a bit. "I don't have the plague, do I?"

"I hope not," Zayn laughs. "I worry about the children a little. After Florence, we are going back home after _years_. I fear they will struggle with the constant changes."

"I practised Italian with Philippa before you got here," Harry says. "She improved so much. But they will be fine. They are smart, they know how to deal with a bit of travelling."

"I don't like the carriage," Zayn frowns a little. "I would much rather just ride a horse."

Harry moves his head to the side. "Normally, I would agree with you. But I am not allowed to ride a horse for long periods of time now. It is bad for my pelvis, apparently."

"What does your-"

"I am with child."

"What?" Zayn squawks rather embarrassingly. "How?"

"Well, let me think," Harry muses with faux concentration. "I went behind your back, slept with a bunch of random men and now this is happening. Oh, you fool, _you were there_ when all this happened."

"Love," Zayn lets out a breath, grabbing Harry's free hand in his. "I was worried sick. But why were you feeling so horrendous? This has never happened to you before."

"No, it has not," Harry agrees. "The midwife said that I am older now, I have technically had three children, and you know very well Cassian wasn't a walk in the park. It took me a long time to recover from that. We fought another war too. All of that coming together made me weaker than I was. I should be fine now. Trust me."

Zayn sighs, watching Harry's face as he tucks a stray curl behind his ear. "Are you not worried?"

Harry looks down, raising up that familiar around himself before his eyes meet Zayn's again, utterly unreadable. "No," he replies simply. "We need more heirs, didn't I tell you? We've talked about it. We wanted more children after the war."

"Yes, but you have also told me you didn't truly want to, considering what happened with Cassian," Zayn reminds him.

"What is there to do now?" Harry shrugs numbly. "In a couple of months, we will have another child. I don't have the heart to get rid of it. Not after what happened with our first son."

"I would _never_ even think about asking you that," Zayn says fiercely. "But you are the love of my life, Harry, and your life and your health are more important to me than our bloodline or England."

"I know," Harry gives him a small, somber smile. "That doesn't diminish our duties, my love. We fought two wars for our Kingdom. If I have to go through some discomfort and pain, and puke my guts out for a few weeks, so be it. This is our legacy, Zayn. Long after we are gone, our descendants will look back and see all that we've done. People learning about history will see our names and we are in charge of what they will be associated with. We can't give up now. Not for love, not for anything."

"You brave, foolish bastard," Zayn shakes his head with a small smile. "I'm catastrophically in love with you."

"Me too," Harry smiles a little, bringing his hand to Zayn's cheek. "And I will never stop loving you, even after our tombs are erected in Westminster Abbey and our names carved into the stone."

xxx

Florence is just as beautiful as it was a decade ago. As the city prospers and grows, it's perhaps even more magical. Its tall streets and splendid buildings, the city breathing and living through art and beauty. It is a magnificent place to be. The only fault it has is that it is so far away from England.

The Medicis wave off the repaid loan like it's nothing, their typical nonchalance when it comes to money. This is probably a good part of why they've been so successful at building their fortune and consequently taking over the Republic of Florence. The city is truly theirs, with the Medici signet above nearly every single door of importance. Yet they are still kind and generous, both to their guests and their people.

Claricia and Lorenzo invite them to stay for however long they want, gently nudging them to stay until their child is born. Of course, at first, Harry protests and tries to argue that no potential heir to their throne shall be born outside of their kingdom but it's a very weak attempt and eventually, he agrees.

"I hate being old," Harry complains as he flicks through his clothes in the large, mahogany wardrobe. "There is truly nothing that could bring you down more than the birthday celebration of an eighteen-year-old. Do we have to go?"

"We do," Zayn mumbles, not lifting his eyes off the correspondence he's reading. "It's Lucrezia's celebration. She's the Medici heir. At whose palazzo we are staying right now, may I remind you."

"What should I wear that hides the fact that I am twenty-eight, with child and about to vomit at any moment?" Harry muses. "Is there such a thing?"

"You are beautiful," Zayn says automatically as he opens a letter from Helen.

"I _was_ beautiful," Harry says back. "A decade ago when we met. Then it all went downhill."

"Stop being self-deprecating, darling," Zayn sighs. "Helen says hello. Everything is fine back home. Possie has adopted her, she claims."

"Lord, I miss that cat," Harry sighs. "She keeps the children busy and warms you up at night. Look at me."

Zayn turns around in his chair and gives Harry's clothes a quick look. "You look great, love."

Harry huffs out an annoyed breath, his arms falling alongside his body. "Are you saying that because I actually look like at least an echo of my former self or just because we have been married for ten years?"

"Harry, you truly do look wonderful," Zayn says with a slight smile. "Stop worrying about people younger than you. You're a King. Would you want to be an eighteen-year-old whose maximum power is starting some rumour and firing a servant?"

"Mind you, I _was_ a King at eighteen," Harry chuckles and turns back to the mirror to fix the lacing on his shirt. "I would not mind being as attractive as I was back then."

"You are attractive now," Zayn persists. "Two months ago you had a body like those statues Lorenzo and Claricia have all around the palazzo. Stop punishing yourself for something you have no control over."

Harry sighs deeply, turning to Zayn again. "You could not possibly understand this. I am losing a tremendous part of myself every single time I carry a child. I cannot train for months, I cannot even ride a horse properly. I look in a mirror and I hardly recognize myself. There is another human being occupying the space that should only be mine. It is _hard_, it's fucking horrible. With Cassian, I thought I was dying. I love our children, I love them with my entire heart and soul, since the very moment I learned about their existence. With Philippa, I was genuinely happy the whole time, I loved every single of her movement inside of me. Even as she came into the world, I was aloof. Perhaps I was young and brave, maybe foolish. But now, I am nearly ten years older than I was with her. I was horribly sick for weeks. My body is different, it just... if I wanted to, I could hide for months that I was with child with Philippa and Cassian and now I can't. I feel disconnected to myself. I wake up in the morning and after a few moments, I feel like someone put my soul into a different body overnight. I know you mean well, darling, but after this child is born, I might never be who I was before and I have a hard time coming to terms with it. Please, let me complain and do not try to console me. It only makes it worse."

Zayn deliberates replying to Harry's monologue for a while before he decides to come to him and embrace him. Harry doesn't expect it, his body stiff at first, arms hanging limply at his sides before he wraps them around Zayn and leans his chin on his shoulder.

"You can talk to me about anything, babe," Zayn says in a low voice. "I love you more than anything in the world. No matter what happens, or how you feel, I will still love you as I have since the very first moment I had laid my eyes upon you. You _are_ brave and you are wonderful."

"I love you," Harry says softly. "You are the best person I know. Truly, I mean it. Your kindness has kept me afloat many times and I cannot imagine a better person to spend the rest of my life with. I might be really unpleasant to be around these next few months but please, bear with me. I need you."

"I need you too," Zayn replies, pulling away so he can look into Harry's eyes. "I cannot function without you. You are a part of my soul now and without you, I could never be whole again. But now, we are going to the Great Hall and enjoying the party of an eighteen-year-old, who will one day be just as old as we are now."

"Yes, but then we will be even older," Harry laughs. "But yes, we should go. I'd kill for some good Italian wine and I know that downstairs, there is plenty of it."

xxx

The elite of Florence, all of them in the same room, celebrating the birthday of the eldest Medici child. Under that guise, there is a lot of business, scheming and drinking. Zayn and Harry don't know many of these people since their previous trip was years ago and that time as well as now, they've been spending most of their time with the Medicis.

"God, she is beautiful," Harry frowns into his wine glass as he watches Lucrezia flit around the room with a smile, her long dark hair flowing behind her.

"Yes, she is, but so are you," a strange voice says, starling both Harry and Zayn. An older man appears in front them, bowing before introducing himself. "I am Sandro Botticelli. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you, Your Majesties."

"The pleasure is ours," Zayn says, connecting the name to the paintings hung all around the Medici's palazzo. "You are truly a master of your craft."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sandro bows his head a little. "Have you been enjoying the beauty of Florence?"

"Yes, we have," Harry replies. "Not as much as the first time we were here as then it was summer and now it is nearly winter but this city is magical no matter the season."

"Indeed," Sandro nods. "Would you care sitting for a portrait? I have seen paintings of you both and I would never forgive myself not asking. One rarely sees such beauty in Kings as with you two."

Zayn and Harry exchange a slightly amused look, Zayn raising his eyebrow is in a little '_told you so'_ to Harry's dilemma from earlier today.

"Of course," Harry replies for them. "But you need to come to visit us in England as well and get another portrait done with the crown jewels we have there. It would be an honour to have it at Windsor."

"We will surely pose for you now too," Zayn says. "We do not have much else to do."

"I am very glad to hear that, Your Majesties," Sandro says. "Do you know the young Lucrezia well?"

"Not at all," Harry replies. "The last time we were here, she was but a child and now she has other entertainment than to fuss over her parents' guests."

"She is a free spirit, that one," Sandro chuckles. "She reminds me of a girl I knew in my youth. Time is a stream of sand that never stops spilling through our fingers. Everything has changed."

"I do believe Florence is only changing for the better," Zayn suggests. 

"Florence can only get better and better," Sandro waves the hand with his wine glass. "I shall go now, I am required elsewhere soon. It was a pleasure meeting you. I am looking forward to painting such inspiring monarchs."

With another bow, Sandro departs, leaving them alone again.

"That was interesting," Harry remarks. "Come on, let us sit down somewhere, my back is killing me."

They join a table with some merchants and nobles who aren't drinking wildly and are discussing something. Zayn is never a fan of business at festive gatherings but it is what it is. No matter what, a room full of rich and powerful people will always be about business and politics, no matter the occasion.

One of the merchants asks them what they think about the new continent that Columbus discovered and if they are planning to get in on the world exploration too. Truth be told, they have been thinking about it but with the war with France and trying to stabilise England after decades of a civil war, there was little time for them to enlist sailors who would discover the world for them. It is certainly on their minds. They just need to get back to England first.

Harry retires from the party quite early, saying that he wants to check up on the children and lie down because he feels horrible. Naturally, Zayn wants to go with him but Harry makes him stay, saying that both of them leaving would be just simply rude and suspicious.

So Zayn does get tipsy, leaning towards the drunken side of the spectrum because parties without his husband are boring now. He guesses that they truly _are_ old and maybe a smidge too codependent on each other.

Everything is fine and mildly boring until Zayn is approached by the birthday girl herself.

"Your Grace," she smiles, charming beyond her age. "It is so lovely to catch you before the evening has ended. Thank you for being here."

"Happy birthday, Lucrezia," Zayn says politely. "How have your first couple of hours of adulthood been so far."

Lucrezia sighs, rolling her eyes with a smile. "Too many marriage proposals. My Mother wants me to marry but I think I have enough time, don't you agree, Your Grace?"

"To be fair, I got married at eighteen," Zayn chuckles, before taking a sip of his wine. "But I was in love and we did it to stop a war. You are still young, there is no rush."

"You don't look old," Lucrezia muses and runs her pointer finger gently along Zayn's cheekbone. He is startled by the touch a little but doesn't make much of it, as Lucrezia has one too many cups of wine and it is her birthday today.

"Trust me," Zayn laughs a little uncomfortably. "I am much older than you."

"If I did not know you, I would have guessed you were twenty-two," Lucrezia says and then smiles, clearly proud of herself. "Tell me, Your Grace, are you busy tonight? I have a bed that is far too big just for me. Besides, I have always dreamt about a man like you taking me for the first time."

Zayn chokes on his wine, his cheeks going red. "Lucrezia, I am _married."_

"I do not see that as an obstacle," Lucrezia waves a hand, her large rings making her fingers look parchment-thin. "Your husband is with child. I am certain he cannot pleasure you now, if ever. I am young and agile. I wish you could see my bosom but my Mother put me in this God-awful dress that makes me look like a nun. I can be your mistress while you are here. I'm sure Father would not mind. He likes you."

"Stop this nonsense, Lucrezia," Zayn says through his teeth, looking around to see if anyone has noticed the very inappropriate conversation he is having right now. "Find someone young your age you can fool around before they match you up with a husband and do not ever proposition such a thing to me ever again."

"Why?" Lucrezia challenges, stepping closer to him, effectively cornering him. "We are both beautiful, your husband is... indisposed, let's say, why not have some fun? I am sure you have fucked many girls before you got married. You could teach me, Your Grace. I know you miss how a woman feels. Her tight heat, her soft breasts. No hands calloused from years of holding a sword. No battle scars."

"Lucrezia, please leave before I tell your Father," Zayn says sternly, looking down into her blue eyes. 

Lucrezia scoffs, taking a step back. "My offer still stands. You know where my chambers are."

Zayn lets out a deep breath when Lucrezia finally leaves. He chugs the rest of his wine down and immediately turns on his heel and leaves the celebration. As much as he hates to admit it, he got aroused a little bit, from Lucrezia's confidence to her admittedly lovely appearance and mostly, her dirty words. Zayn has always preferred the company of women in terms of sexual partners and he knows that had he not met Harry, he would have married a woman. Lucrezia's words reminded him of a time past, a ghost of his former self. It has been more than a decade since he was with a woman. This encounter tapped into his memory.

Nevertheless, he passes Lucrezia's chambers on the way back and doesn't have the slightest inclination to knock on the door and come in. Zayn walks past the door and down the corridor to finally see the love of his life again. Harry is asleep already, lying on his side with a book open on the bed next to him. Zayn smiles at the sight, takes his clothes off quickly and joins Harry, hugging him from the back. No matter how many miles from Windsor they are, as long as he's with Harry, he's home.

xxx

Some weeks later, during a casual lunch with the Medicis and their current guests, Zayn notices a new woman at the table. She has a strange air around her and her demeanour reminds him of the woman from the village that led Harry to their children when they were kidnapped.

"Have you decided yet if you want the babe to be christened here?" Claricia asks Harry. "I am sure you have seen the baptistery by the Duomo. It is truly splendid."

"I think there is enough time for that decisions," Harry says. "But I do believe it would be best. The journey to England will be long and I would not want to have my child undertake it without being christened already."

"Do you have a name yet?" Claricia inquires further, a smile on her face.

"No, not yet," Harry shakes his head. "Philippa wants a sister though, so I am sure she will come in with suggestions. Cassian does not care that much so I suppose let us hope that Philippa gets her wish."

"I wish there was a way to tell," Claricia shakes her head a little. "With Lucrezia, I was _convinced_ I was having a boy and there is she."

As if on cue, Lucrezia glares at Zayn. Even after some months after her birthday party, she has not gotten over the refusal. She is used to getting everything and everyone she wants, after all. There is no one above the Medici in Florence. But even her parents would admit that trying to seduce a married King is shooting a bit too high.

"I am quite good at predicting that," the strange woman quips in. "Never really been wrong."

"Oh, excuse me, that is Nadežda," Lorenzo says, pointing at the woman. Zayn can't quite figure her out. She doesn't look old yet she does not appear particularly young either. "She is a dear friend. Incredible at medicine. I have been having trouble with my faulty knee lately and Nadežda graciously accepted my invitation. She could help you with the baby, Your Grace."

Harry's face looks stern, the easy smile gone from it now. "Thank you, Lorenzo, I think I will be alright with my midwife."

And at that moment, Zayn knows that he isn't the only one having a strange feeling about her. Harry must feel the same way, if his avoiding Nadežda's eyes is anything to go by.

After they return to their chambers from lunch, there is a rolled-up parchment waiting on their desk.

"I feel like _shit,_" Harry complains and throws himself on the chaise lounger. "Remind me not to ever get near your evil dick again."

Zayn scoffs as he unrolls the scroll. "So it's _my_ fault now? You wanted a child, I told you I was worried about you and that we did not need any more children."

"Well, what am I supposed to do about this?" Harry points at his belly, which clearly houses a child. "It's a bit too late for your wisdom. Lucrezia again?"

"Unfortunately," Zayn chuckles and throws the scroll into the fireplace. Her dirty letters and invitations to Zayn have now become a running joke."This one was even dirtier than the last one."

"I can't blame her, you _are_ good in bed," Harry remarks as he attempts to get comfortable on the chaise with the large weight around his middle. "I too wanted to have you fuck me, multiple times. And where did it get me? I'm fat, I have two and a half children and wrinkles are starting to pop up on my forehead. Not worth it, I would say. She can have you all she wants. If you leave me the throne."

"Wouldn't you want that?" Zayn teases and joins Harry on the chaise, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Would you not miss me?"

"No," Harry scoffs. "You are obnoxious."

"Really?"

"Maybe a little bit," Harry smiles softly. "If you rub my back and get Cassian to finish his Greek philosophy reading."

"I think that is a small price to pay for you."

"Oh, darling, I am much more expensive than that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER!!! Can you see that I'm procrastinating doing my assignments? Yeah.
> 
> PLEASE!!!! Let me know what you think and if anyone's even still reading this.
> 
> Thank you so much!!!!! Love you guys!


	8. eight.

_May 1496 - Florence, Republic of Florence_

Harry feels like they have been in Florence for an eternity now. He adores the city, don't get him wrong but his entire stay here, he has been completely drained by the child he's carrying underneath his heart and the time only seems to drag on and on and on. He can barely do anything these days and is bored out of his mind.

He is doing the usual thing for him now - reading a book in their chambers, when there is a knock on the door. Harry calls for whoever is on the other side to come in and he's pleasantly surprised to see Sandro Botticelli come in, along with a painting hidden under a sheet.

"Oh, Sandro, how good it is to see you," Harry greets him, standing up from his seat and helping the old man with the painting. "I will help you put it on the dresser. I am so happy you came."

"I am happy I had the chance to pain Your Majesties," Sandro says after the still veiled painting sits atop a massive wooden dresser. "I do hope I did you two justice."

"Of course, you did," Harry chuckles. "How you could not? But we shall see the painting first, right?"

"Certainly, Your Majesty," Sandro nods and unveils the panting at last.

Harry's knocked back, seeing himself and Zayn depicted in Sandro's eclectic and unique style. It is unlike any portrait they have ever had made and it's probably the best of them. They are hardly recognisable yet, you _could_ see that it's them. They are just as Sandro sees them. And that is apparently beautiful. It is no Birth of Venus or Primavera but it took just a few seconds for Harry to fall in love with the work.

"It is absolutely splendid," Harry breathes out, unable to glue his eyes off the painting. "I am speechless. Thank you, Sandro."

"It was my pleasure, Your Majesty," Sandro says. "I am glad you are satisfied with my work."

"More than that, I adore it," Harry says, turning his head quickly to Sandro. "Please, you have to come to England. Turn us into an ancient legend, make it magnificent. Do anything you want. We will pay for your journey and of course, your fee. You would be more than welcome to stay at Windsor."

"It would be my honour," Sandro bows a little, his hand on his heart. "When would it be good for Your Grace?"

"A couple of months after we come back," Harry says. "We have not been to England in a couple of years, ever since the war started. We will have responsibilities. We will certainly need to visit Scotland and some lords around England. After that, however, you can come and spend as much time as you wish."

Sandro smiles a little, looking down. "I do not like to spend too much time away from Florence. I feel like I cannot pain well without her."

"That is understandable," Harry nods. "Being a local to this wonderful city, I would not want to leave either. Even as a visitor, leaving Florence behind is heartbreaking. I hope we will be able to come again soon."

"When are you leaving, Your Majesty?" Sandro asks.

"A couple of weeks after this little one stops taking its time," Harry chuckles, putting a hand on his belly. "Any day now. Still, the babe could not come soon enough. It would have been overjoyed if the baby was already out in the world for weeks."

"At least your child will always be tied to Florence," Sandro gives Harry a smile.

"The silver lining," Harry chuckles. "I would prefer to be home for this. With my friends and my Mother-in-law, as strange as it sounds. I am not even thirty and yet it feels like I have lived a hundred lives."

"Not many have as extraordinary life as you do, Your Majesty," Sandro says. "The world will remember you for a long time."

"Perhaps," Harry sighs. "You will be remembered for better things than I will. My name will always be associated with not one, but two wars. I have killed, slaughtered men on battlefields. I had my step-father executed. I will not be a bright figure in history. But that is alright. Perhaps Philippa will be a better Queen."

Sandro takes a few contemplative steps, his hands behind his back. "I think you are a good King. I have no known you for a long time, but from what I have gathered, both you and your husband are trying to make the right decisions in all situations. You do not care about gold and land, you only care about your people. Not many Kings like that have lived."

"Perhaps you are right," Harry sighs a little as he sits back down in his armchair. "Would you stay for tea, Sandro?"

"I would love to, Your Majesty, but I promised a dear, old friend that I will visit for lunch," Sandro says. "Are you free tomorrow?"

"I am always free," Harry chuckles. "I just sit around and wait for this child to finally come out. Please, come around anytime you have a spare moment. I value your wisdom."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sandro bows before he opens the door. "I will see you soon."

Harry just gives him a smile as he watches him leave. And oh, fuck, he isn't free. He has a bloody meeting with the trade ambassadors from Venice.

xxx

"Father?"

Harry walks into the sitting area from the bedroom to see Cassian by the door, a book and a parchment in his hand.

"Cassian, sweetheart," Harry smiles and gestures to him to come to sit at one of the sofas. "Are you done with your studies for today?"

"Yes, Father," Cassian says, unrolling the scroll. "We talked about Plato today. I took notes."

Harry takes the parchment from him, reading over the scarcely neat writing of his son. He still did good and even from these brief notes, he can see that the boy has an understanding of what he learned today.

"You did a great job, honey," Harry says and kisses the top of Cassian's head. "Are you having a good time with your teachers?"

"I guess," Cassian shrugs. "I would like to train more. Like Philippa does."

"You are too little for that, I'm afraid," Harry says. "But soon you will start your own training as well. Most likely when we return to England."

"I miss Grandmother," Cassian muses. "And Possie."

"Don't we all?" Harry chuckles. "You know that I love you a lot, right, Cassian?"

"I do, Daddy," Cassian says, his eyes on Harry. "I love you too."

"Ah, my sweet boy," Harry sighs and hugs Cassian into his side with one arm. "I wish I could talk you through what you studied today but I have a meeting. I'll take you to Philippa and your caretaker and then we will meet up for lunch again with Papa too, alright? And if you ask nicely, he might take your riding in the afternoon."

"Alright," Cassian says casually and hops off the sofa, gathering his books and already skipping towards the door.

The palazzo is significantly smaller than Windsor so it doesn't take long to reach the children's chambers. The whole walk, Cassian is skipping around and reciting some poem he learned with his teachers. Then, unfortunately, Harry has to get to one of the meeting chambers and see the Venetian trade ambassadors.

Harry barely pays attention in the meeting. All they truly want is to extend an already existing contract with England and add a clause that would include their new territories. He nods off to all of it because it's hard to think above all the discomfort he's feeling. Still, Harry won't sign anything alone and without confirmation from their privy council that this contract won't rip them off.

As the ambassadors finally leave, Harry comes to a realization - the child is probably on its way. It's a testament to how much he hates being fussed around with because he walks to their chambers on his own and doesn't even call for a midwife yet. Being in such a position feels like stripping down every last bit of himself. It feels like nearly dying on a battlefield, the threat of a limb being cut off at the end. With both Philippa and Cassian, he banned most people from the room. Ideally, he would want to be completely alone but it's dangerous and as a King, he can't afford risking that.

After a short while, he does eventually call for the midwife, but just her for now.

"Your Majesty, how are you feeling?" she asks as she sets up some things on a dresser near the bed. "I see you have changed out of your day clothes, that is good."

"How _am I_ feeling, Bernadette?" Harry scoffs. "Like there is something thing to rip my body into pieces. And yes, I changed. I am not yet an elderly bed-ridden man who cannot do a thing for himself."

He's pacing around the room like a starving lion while Bernadette is the picture of calmness and composure. She has to be, no matter Harry's mood.

"Could you lie down for me, Your Majesty?" she asks after a while as she sets a bowl of water and some cloths on the bedside table. "I need to see where we are and how much time we have until the baby."

Harry rolls his eyes but he complies and lets Bernadette do what she needs to. Every single touch is uncomfortable, some of them even painful. He grits his teeth together and ignores the pain trying to consume his entire body.

"I will call for my help, Your Majesty," Bernadette announces after a couple of minutes. "We are nearly there. This should be a quick one, I could feel the babe already. How long did you wait between the start and calling for me?"

"I don't know," Harry breathes out. "Before lunchtime, I got here from a meeting, the moment I started changing out of my clothes I got the incredibly unpleasant announcement that the baby is coming. It could have been an hour."

Bernadette shakes her head. "You should have called for me the moment you left the meeting, Your Majesty."

"I can't turn back time, can I?" Harry winces as he moves on the bed. "Where is my husband?"

"I asked before I came here," Bernadette says. "He is out today. Some member of the Signoria invited him over to his estate."

"Fuck," Harry sighs. "Could not have that old arsehole picked out a different day? Please, tell my guards to have someone fetch him, as soon as possible."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Bernadette nods and leaves the room.

In the delirium of pain, Harry scarcely notices that she's back, along with a brood of other women, who come in carrying pitchers of water, jars with oils and herbal remedies and others things.

He closes his eyes, biting on his tongue as a strong surge of pain comes in.

"Your Majesty, we need to begin," Bernadette says, gently arranging his useless limbs and checking him again. "It will all be over in a pitch. We all need to work together and you will hold your baby in no time. First, I need some effort from Your Majesty."

Harry can feel tears wetting his cheeks, sliding down the side of his head into the already damp pillow. But he's done this before, he can do it again. He's fought two fucking wars, childbirth can't put him down now.

He lets Bernadette's voice guide him, focusing on that and only that. If he thinks too hard about what is happening and what his body is going through, he might faint.

He has been injured before, even has delivered children before but this hits him more than ever. It is said that you can't remember pain and that's probably true. Still, it doesn't lessen the pain he feels right now. It doesn't erase the feeling of his skin being an inch away from tearing, the discomfort of his very bones arranging and rearranging themselves. His skin is wet with blood and there so many areas of pain that it's impossible to even differentiate them.

"We are almost there, Your Majesty," Bernadette says after a minute or a century.

Harry's sure he would rather take a sword into his shoulder than this.

"And there is she," Bernadette says. "A beautiful, healthy girl. Well done, Your Majesty."

Seconds later, a baby haphazardly wrapped in a white blanket is placed on Harry's chest, with blood and grime still on her head. She stops crying after a few seconds and opens her eyes. Harry chokes out a sob as he takes her in his arms.

"Oh my god. Welcome, sweetheart," Harry says, kissing the top of her head. "I couldn't wait to see you. You took your time, darling but finally, you're here."

She coos, almost starting to cry before she hiccups.

Harry laughs through his tears. "It's alright, you're fine. I love you so, so much. What shall we name you? What would you like to be called?"

The baby coos again, blinking slowly.

"Should we wait for your big sister?" Harry asks her as he takes one of her tiny hands between his two fingers. "She was very excited to meet you. Perhaps she will have a good name for you, what do you think?"

Of course, she doesn't answer him. It actually seems to him that she's falling asleep.

"Sleep is a great idea," Harry says in a low voice. "You exhausted me, darling. Don't you act like you did all the hard work."

"Your Majesty?" Bernadette speaks to him. "I will leave you for a moment with her and then I will need you to work with me a little more. The lining where the baby was didn't come out with here and we cannot risk an infection."

Harry sighs. "Of course. Just give us a moment."

Bernadette just nods and clears the whole room, ushering the other women out.

"I wish your Papa was here," Harry tells her. "He makes even the hardest thing in the world so easy to me. But he will be here soon. Before that, you do need a bath darling. So do I."

Harry watches her sleep in his arms for a good while. He gently plays with her tiny fingers, traces her features with the tip of his finger. She has a sprinkling of light-coloured hair on the top of her head and Harry guesses that the genes from her grandparents are coming through. It would be quite funny if she ended up being blonde like Julianna.

Bernadette comes in after a little while and takes the baby from him, handing her over to one of her assistants so she can give her a bath. Harry does indeed still feel some pain and he truly doesn't want to die from an infection.

"Are you ready, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, please, I want this over with," Harry sighs.

Yet, even as he tries to get the remnants of the lining out for a while, nothing seems to be coming out and Bernadette grows increasingly worrisome. Harry watches as her brows furrow and within moments, she starts to examine him again. His heartbeat pickups the pace because this doesn't seem good. Panic settles in and he tries to breathe through it but Bernadette's concerned gaze doesn't help in calming down one bit.

"What is wrong?" Harry asks then, his voice shaky. "Please, tell me."

Bernadette sighs. "The lining isn't coming out anytime soon, I fear. I believe I felt a little foot trying to get out."

Harry's head starts spinning. "What?! Are you trying to tell me I was carrying twins this _entire time_ and no one had a clue?"

"It happens sometimes," Bernadette says calmly. "Usually when both babies are quite small. From the outside, no one could tell that there were two babies."

"God," Harry chokes down a sob. "What now?"

"Well, the baby needs to come out," Bernadette smiles a little. "We should hurry."

And the entire cycle of torture starts again. Now it's a million times worse because the second baby is coming out the wrong way. Cassian came out like that and it took nearly a full day. They could be here all night.

"We will need the physician," Bernadette says to one of her ladies in a low voice, thinking Harry won't hear her but he does.

"What for?" Harry gets out, barely mustering up the strength to speak.

Bernadette looks at him reluctantly. "It's a difficult one, Your Majesty. But you are doing a great job. Just keep trying, we will get there soon. We have the legs almost out already."

Harry lets himself cry then. The day is far from over.

xxx

Philippa is brought to her parents' chambers. Apparently Father was asking for her. She isn't quite sure why. The lady that fetched her told her that she had a sister so she is probably there to meet her. She doesn't really remember when Cassian was born so this should be interesting.

When she enters the room, there are quite a few people running around, carrying pitchers and buckets with water and cloths. There are multiple voices speaking but she can't quite pinpoint her Father's.

"Oh, there you are, dear," an older woman comes to her, taking her hand and pulling her towards the bedroom. Philippa doesn't know her so she doesn't say anything, just in case.

What completely shocks her is the sight of the bedroom. Her Father is lying on one side of the bed, surrounded by large streaks of blood and with a midwife between his legs. Philippa can see tears glistening on his face. He's pale and sweaty, the long white shirt he's wearing nearly transparent with moisture and bloody at the bottom. Philippa flinches when he clutches his stomach and screams.

He scarcely even looks like her Father anymore. Philippa knows him as the brave man who always encouraged her to grab a sword and fight. She knows him as the warrior sitting atop a horse with a sword on his hand. She's seen him covered in a dead man's blood, one he himself killed, but never his own.

The woman who brought Philippa into the bedroom says something to her Father and he then looks at her, promptly wiping his tears.

"Philippa, sweetheart, please come here," he says, his voice shaky. "Don't be scared."

Philippa takes a few hesitant steps until she's at her Father's side. He tells her to sit down at the side of the bed, so she does.

"Do you know why I called for you?" her Father asks.

Philippa shakes her head.

"Your sister was born a few hours ago," he explains, clutching Philippa's hand in his. "Everything went well but then we learned there was another baby. And it's having a hard time coming into our world. And it might not make it. Or I might not make it. That is why I needed you here."

"Father, what is happening?" Philippa asks.

"I am losing a lot of blood darling," he says, the clutch on Philippa's hand getting tighter. "They can't do anything about it, not until the baby is out but it is having trouble passing through."

Philippa doesn't know what to say for a while. "Does it hurt, Father?"

He lets out a weak laugh. "It does, a lot. But when you're here, I barely think about it. Will you hold my hand?"

Philippa nods, focusing on her grip. "I promise." She can't let go now.

"You are such a smart, strong, girl, darling," he says.

Philippa flinches every single time her Father screams out in pain but she doesn't let go of his hand. She must be strong like parents. They fought so many battles, she can do this. Even as her hands start to hurt from her Father's strong grip, Philippa is determined not to let go.

Curiosity takes over her and she turns her head to see the baby coming out. There is a lot of blood everywhere, almost as much as in France when her Father killed that bad man. Philippa quickly averts her gaze from the grimy sight.

She doesn't know how much time passes but moments after the bones in her hand nearly cracked under the pressure from the grip, the midwife lifts up a baby, holding it by its legs and starts slapping it. Philippa's eyes widen at the sight in complete horror and she flinches so hard she nearly falls off the bed when the baby starts screaming at the top of its lungs. The moment it cries, her Father sighs deeply and his grip on Philippa's hand weakens.

"It's another girl, Your Majesty," the midwife says with a tired smile. "All ten toes and fingers."

"Can I hold her?" her Father asks.

"We will quickly wash her, there is blood everywhere," the midwife says and scurries off with the screaming baby.

Her Father nods, more to himself than to her and then looks at Philippa, his eyes tired and dull. "Is your Papa back, sweetheart?"

"Yes, the lady said so," Philippa answers. "But they will not let him come until everything is done."

"I will tell them to let him come in a moment," he says. He puts both his hands on Philippa's. "I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I am dying, Philippa," he says, calmly. His lips are pale and dry. "I have lost too much blood and no matter what they would do, it would not help. I still keep bleeding."

Philippa chokes on a breath. "No, Father, you are not dying."

"I am, darling," he says with an almost invisible forlorn smile. "You need to listen to me right now. Promise me you will take care of your siblings and you won't let your Papa grieve himself to death. You all need him. Don't let him be alone. Take Cassian and ask Papa to teach you. When you return home, Grandma will be there for you. And Aunt Helen. You will never be alone, alright, darling? Even when I'm gone, I will always be there with you, even if you can't see me. I will _never_ leave you, my love."

"Daddy, you can't die," Philippa cries. "You are young and you are strong and I need you."

"I know, baby," he says and pushes a stray curl out of her face. "Life is cruel sometimes. Things like this happen. I lost my Father in a war when I was young. It is what it is. You will still have Papa and Cassian and your sisters and so many other people who love you. Grandma misses you so much. Both of them do. I will never leave you, not truly because as long as you have me in your heart, I am with you, my darling."

Philippa throws her self on her Father's chest, sobbing loudly. She wraps her arms around him the best she can. She can't let him die. She can't.

"I love you so much, Philippa," he says, rubbing her back weakly. "Tell the nice ladies to call for Cassian and your Papa, please?"

But Philippa can't move, she can't think. All she can do is cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's pissed off at me, hands up   
Thank you guys for reading! There will be two more chapters and I think there are gonna be some things I might've foreshadowed, you might've noticed but are gonna be a bit surprising, I think  
Thank you for reading! And please, turn up for the next chapters ❤️


	9. nine.

_May 1496 - Florence, Republic of Florence_

The rumours and whispers got out. The mood in the Great Hall quickly shifted from cheerful to grim. What was a celebration of new life was now a preemptive funeral. Some people were even crying as if it was their loved one currently hanging onto the last threads of life.

Zayn wasn't letting himself cry. Not yet. He wasn't ready to settle for this, to just take the situation as it is and act like the love of his life is already dead and beyond saving. If only they would fucking let him into the room, that would've certainly been helpful.

"Papa?" Cassian's voice wakes Zayn out from his restless thinking.

"Yes, darling?" Zayn looks at him.

Cassian's turning a wooden horse around in his hands, his eyes turned down. "Why is Philippa with Daddy and we aren't?"

"We will be soon, love," Zayn says and kisses the top of Cassian's head, hugging him with one arm and not letting him go. "We will see him again and you will get to meet your new siblings. Are you excited."

Cassian shrugs. "I already have Philippa. Babies are not fun. I cannot play with them."

"You aren't wrong but now you will see how it is to be a big brother too," Zayn says. "Once they get bigger, you can all play together."

"I guess," Cassian says quietly. "Will Father die, Papa? I don't want him to."

Zayn takes a sharp breath, hiding the grief he's starting to feel. "Of course he won't. Your Father is very, very strong. He fought in two wars, he can get through this."

"Then why is everybody sad?" Cassian looks up again, completely flooring Zayn, leaving him lost for words.

"How about you go to your friend Cosimo?" Zayn ends up saying, at last, signalling at the boy playing alone near the empty fireplace. "I will ask if we can see Daddy, alright?"

Cassian just nods and hops off the sofa, running to the other boy. Zayn sighs deeply and gets up as well, going straight for the unattended pitcher of wine. He's losing all patience. He is giving them until he finished his wine and then he's marching down to their chambers and seeing Harry even if he has to slay the guards himself.

A moving figure catches his eyes in the doorway, walking slowly through the corridor. He freezes as he locks eyes with Nadežda, the strange Eastern European woman. She keeps the eye contact, not blinking until she is out of sight.

And then it clicks.

If anyone could help Harry right now, it's her. Zayn's not a fool. He knows that Harry is actually dying, even if he's trying to deny it and ignore it and hope for the best possible outcome. But Nadežda might be able to help. Zayn doesn't know a great deal about magic and old religion but he's been trying to read up on it ever since Harry's confession. It's nearly impossible to get actual stories out of Harry but if being King is useful one fucking time, it's to get any information in the world.

Zayn doesn't hesitate and he puts his wine glass back, walking quickly out of the room. Nadežda isn't actually walking when he reaches her. She is standing in an alcove, a stoic expression on her face.

"You wanted me to find you," Zayn states when he catches up to her. "Please tell me you can help my husband. I will give you anything in the world you could ask for."

Nadežda gives him a weak smile. "I have all I need, boy. It will cost you but you will not be paying me and you will certainly not be paying in gold. You will take a great risk."

"I do not care," Zayn says without hesitation. "I just cannot lose him. Tell me what to do."

"Go to your husband, take your son," Nadežda says. "I will come to you shortly. I need to gather my things."

"What will you do to him?" Zayn dares to ask. "Will he be... changed?"

"In a sense," Nadežda says cryptically. "You will be too."

Zayn breathes out. "What?"

"I have a spell," Nadežda reveals. "He will not die today. Nor will he ever. Neither will you. This does not work with a single person. A strong bong with lifeforce needs to tie the one on the brink of death to the live one. I have to warn you that it will not work if your intentions are not pure and if you do not truly love him. I do not mess with dark forces, I only use light energy."

"I love him more than anything," Zayn replies, swallowing. "Can I trust you? I just- I have trouble believing and really, understanding what you are implying."

Nadežda touches his elbow lightly. "Go to him now. I will come before the sun has set." And with that, she turns on her heel and leaves.

Zayn can't risk not listening to her. As insane as she sounds, she is his only option, his once chance of keeping the love of his life alive.

xxx

Cassian nearly starts crying before they go to Zayn and Harry's chambers. His bottom lip starts trembling so Zayn picks him and seats him on his hip, whispering to him that everything is fine, that Daddy will be fine.

When they step into the bedroom, it looks like a battlefield. Nearly the entire bed is stained red and so is Harry in the middle of it. Philippa is half-draped across his chest, crying silently. Her light-yellow dress now has some blood on the skirt too.

Harry notices them right away, smiling a little before he bites his lip, trying to push back tears. He's horribly pale, his lips without colour, a sheen of sweat on his skin. Zayn's entire heart shatters in that moment.

The room is quiet, even if there is a couple of women there and the physician too. Some are taking care of the babies, some are uselessly periodically trying to stop Harry's bleeding but it's all a fool's errand.

"I've missed you both," Harry says then, his smile shaky, his voice weak. "Come here, please."

Zayn tries to put a smile on his face too but it's nearly impossible. He places Cassian on the floor and he immediately runs over to the bed, climbing on it and hugging Harry from the other side opposite Philippa. Zayn walks to the bed slowly and sits down on the side next to Cassian, who is taking up less space than Philippa. Harry immediately stretches out a hand to him and Zayn takes it without hesitation, kissing his knuckles.

"I love you so much," Zayn says quietly.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you," Harry whispers. "I never wanted to. I wanted _so many_ more years with you. With our children."

"Have you named the girls yet?" Zayn asks, keeping the information about Nadežda hidden for now. He doesn't want Philippa and Cassian to hear.

"I have," Harry gives him a weak smile. "Philippa officially approved them. The first one is Fleur and the second one should be Clarissa. Do you like them?"

"I love them," Zayn says. "How are you feeling, my love?"

Harry breathes out deeply. "Weak. Sticky. Very tired but I'm too scared to close my eyes."

"Everything will be alright soon, honey," Zayn says. "Trust me. I have told you before I am not letting you die, not on my watch."

"I fear that this is out of your hands," Harry concludes grimly, a weak, somber smile on his lips. "Two wars, countless battles, many injuries and bloody childbirth takes me. Who would've thought?"

Zayn shakes his head a little. "It won't take you, Haz. It won't."

"It already has," Harry says. "Please, I do not want to spend the last moment on Earth fighting with the love of my life."

Zayn makes the decision then. "Cassian, Philippa, can you leave us alone just for a moment? I need to tell Daddy something."

The children are too grieved to oppose anything and within a few moments, the room is empty.

Harry looks at Zayn angrily. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life, you fool," Zayn replies, scooting closer to Harry on the bed. "In a couple of moments, Nadežda will come. She can save you."

Harry scoffs weakly, closing his eyes for a moment as he shakes his head. "Herbs and salves cannot help me, Zayn. Nothing can. I am dying. I am actively bleeding out. This is not a tear that can be stitched up. There is something wrong _inside_ of me and no one can fix it."

"It can, Harry," Zayn argues, clutching his hand. "I know you never wanted to deal with paganism and magic but I do not care about the ramifications, I need you alive. Our Kingdom needs you alive, our children need you alive. You deserve to live. Your life is not a fair price to pay for two new ones."

"I have killed more people with my own hand than I have given birth to," Harry says plainly. "There is nothing fair after one has killed and taken a life."

"Please, just listen to me," Zayn says, looking at Harry fiercely. "She can tie our lifeforce together, whatever that means. I would do _anything_ to save your life. Do you remember how miserable you felt when you thought I had died in battle? I feel like that when I see you now and you cannot expect me to sit on my arse and do nothing about it. Should I cry like the people in the Great Hall who barely know you? Should I start coming up with stories to tell the children about what happened to you after death? I can't give up without a fight."

Harry looks at him for a long moment. "Fine. But magic always, _always _has its price. I am already dying, I have nothing left to lose. But God warns you if this shall bring any misfortune on our children or Kingdom."

"Trust me, please," Zayn says and kisses the back of Harry's hand. "I would never do something dangerous and foolish with those risks."

The door opens then and Nadežda walks in. Zayn takes in a sharp breath. Harry just watches her.

"What are you going to do to me?" Harry asks almost immediately.

Nadežda smiles secretively. "I almost forgot who your Mother is. Of course, you would have questions."

Harry furrows his brows. "You know my Mother?"

"Not personally," Nadežda replies. "During my travels, I have been to England and I have met with some priests she has visited. I have heard a thing or two about you, about the King who has seen the Light but is still a dutiful Catholic. I mean no harm to you, Your Majesty. All the evil one does comes back to them. I have lived for far too long to bring that misfortune to myself."

"Then please," Harry breathes in heavily, his chest slowly rising and falling. "Tell me what you are going to do. I would rather die than bring about the death of my husband too. Our children need at least one of us."

Nadežda takes a large, metal chalice out of her bag, along with some herbs tied together in a bunch. She sets the cup on a nearby table and lights up the herbs with the flame from a candle. "I am going to connect you to your husband's lifeforce. Neither of you will die. You will stay frozen in time. Since the moment we are born we are dying. Your bodies will be thrown into an endless circle they will never escape. The flesh and blood will try to move closer and closer to death but they will never be able to. You will be tied together forever."

Zayn watches Harry waiting for his reaction. But Harry's face is completely black.

After a while, he says, "I can't do this to Zayn. This is a punishment. It's torture."

"Babe," Zayn says. "Please-"

"No!" Harry turns his head to Zayn weakly. "You are not doing this. You cannot."

"I am and I will," Zayn declares. "You cannot change my mind, Harry."

"God," Harry sighs. "We will owe the universe a huge fucking bill and who knows who and how will pay it? This can haunt our bloodline for generations."

"It won't," Nadežda says. "There will be a price but you are not dooming your bloodline. You are not dooming yourselves either. I do not do spells that would ruin a person."

Harry closes his eyes for a moment before looking up at Zayn. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes," Zayn replies without hesitation. "Have a little faith."

"We do not know if we can trust the validity of it," Harry says quietly.

"I can prove it to you quickly," Nadežda replies. "I just need to start the process."

Harry sighs, looking between Zayn and Nadežda before nodding softly. "Alright, yes. Can you kiss me first? In case this all doesn't work and I die either way?"

Zayn simply leans down and kisses Harry shortly. His skin is cold and damn and he knows they have to hurry before Harry accidentally dies in the middle of everything.

"I need blood from both of you," Nadežda says, a dagger and the chalice in her hands. Zayn willingly offers his palm first, wincing a little as she slices through his skin, the dark blood pouring into the chalice. When she moves to Harry, he depressingly notes that he's not sure if he has any more blood in him. He does, because when Nadežda cuts him too, a stream of blood comes out, joining Zayn's in the cup.

Nadežda then turns back to the table and puts various things into it, muttering some foreign words under her breath. The bundle of herbs is still burning, now set on a stray plate from the table. She heats up the contents of the chalice for a little while about the candle before turning around to face Zayn and Harry again.

"You need to go first," she tells Zayn. "You are unhurt, healthy, truly alive. Take one big gulp. Do not stand up, your head will spin."

She hands the chalice to Zayn. When he looks at the liquid, he feels like gagging and also feels like a complete lunatic. But he knows this isn't just a bunch of stories for children. He hasn't seen it work with his own eyes before but now he will try the ultimate test.

When Zayn finally drinks, the liquid tastes like nothing, even if it smells metallic from the blood and aromatic from the herbs and liquids Nedežda put into it. Once he swallows it, the thick liquid coats his mouth unpleasantly but that goes out of focus pretty fast as his head starts horribly spinning and his heartbeat speeds up insanely. He tries to breathe through it, closing his eyes and just focusing on the simple, natural movement of his lungs filling in with air and then again pushing it out. He's not sure how long it takes but when he opens his eyes again, his mind is stable and his heart is beating normally.

"How do you feel?" Harry asks, his voice tinted with worry. "Are you feeling sick?"

"No, I feel alright, like myself," Zayn replies. "There was... this utterly strange moment and... it sort of felt like I had the weight of the universe on my chest but it passed."

Harry nods softly, looking down at the cup in Zayn's hand. "Give it to me."

Zayn hands it to him carefully, seeing how weak Harry is now after losing so much blood.

"Look at your hand," Nadežda says then. "The one with the cut."

Zayn frows up he lifts his left hand palm-up and nearly faints. The deep bloody gash is now almost entirely gone, only a pink tender-looking line left behind it.

"What-" Zayn breathes out, starting at his hand before lifting his eyes to Nadežda. "How?"

"Like I said, the circle has begun forming," Nadežda says simply. "And the circle wants to be perfect."

"I really fucking hope I am not past saving," Harry says before he shakily lifts the cup to his lips and drinks. He shuts his eyes too after he swallows and blindly looks for Zayn's hand. Zayn grabs Harry's hand in his and doesn't let go. As insane as it is, this needs to save Harry.

A long moment passes before Harry opens his eyes but when he does, he immediately looks at Zayn and breathes out in relief, a small laugh escaping his lips. His eyes look sharper, the green of them no longer dull.

"I think- I think it worked," Harry says, a small smile appearing on his lips. "I can feel, at least I think, that I've stopped bleeding. And the pain- I mean, I think it's subsiding." He turns his head to Nadežda and gives her back the chalice. "Thank you. _Thank you_. Please, please tell me this isn't a fluke. That you didn't make us drink something that would make up see things that aren't true. Please."

Nadežda smiles a little. "I have dedicated my existence to helping people. This is the most radical thing I could have done but I had a feeling, deep in my chest, that nothing else would have helped you and we would have wasted time. You were far too gone for simple things."

"Thank you," Harry says again, the corners of his lips lifting. "We will forever be indebted to you."

"No, you will only ever be in debt to Mother Nature," Nadežda says. "She is a fair merchant. Most of the time."

"What now?" Zayn asks, holding Harry's hand tightly, fearing that he might slip out of his grasp and float away forever.

"I have written you a letter," Nadežda says, taking out a thick, sealed letter and putting it on the table. "There is all you need to know. However, if you ever find yourselves in trouble or not knowing what to do, any priest or priestess of my faith should be able to help you. You two are smart, you will figure it out. I shall leave you now. Be with your family. You deserve it."

Nadežda leaves promptly, leaving Zayn and Harry in the room alone. It is almost dark now, the late summer sunset washing the room in hues of orange.

"How are you feeling?" Zayn asks Harry. "Do you need anything?"

"A bath," Harry chuckles as he sits up on the bed. Colour has returned into his face and he no longer looks a hair away from an actual corpse. "I have been lying in my own blood for hours now. It's disgusting. Fuck, Zayn, what did we just sign ourselves up for?"

Zayn breathes in deeply. "If I understood correctly, we're never gonna die? I don't know if I believe that. Even if I had a _deep_ cut heal in a blink of an eye."

Harry shakes his head, a line between his eyebrows. "I was dying moments ago. Now I feel better than I have in _months_. I could feel blood slowly leaking out of me for hours and hours. I was in so much pain. There is _nothing _now. Absolutely nothing."

"I don't understand... any of this," Zayn waves a hand around. "I tried to read more but I never truly got it, not without seeing it first. But I believed you, what you told me about your experiences. That is why I did not hesitate to consider even the craziest thing to save you."

Harry smiles timidly. "Thank you. I have no clue what we are going to do with our new... predicament but I am so grateful to be alive. I felt death nearly taking me. I felt my soul slowly seeping out of me. And then, the whole world seemed to turn on itself. Thank you, my love. Thank you for not losing hope. I love you so fucking much."

Zayn just smiles and pulls Harry into a kiss, a proper one. Harry's skin no longer feels cold and damp. He's nearly completely back to who he truly is. Who he's been all these years.

Harry pulls away slowly. "I need to change. But I feel fine so everyone will be suspicious so we need to scheme a little bit with this. God, I wish your Mother was here, she is an exceptional liar."

"Well, knowing her, she would do two things," Zayn says. "Firstly, hide everything. And secondly, act it all out."

"Alright," Harry says as he starts getting off the bed. "Oh, my dear Lord, I can stand! After I gave birth to Cassian I could not even sit up properly for three days. Where was Nadežda then?"

"You look like you took a bath in blood," Zayn notes sadly. Harry looks down at himself, at the blood-strained long shirt which is now honestly more red than white. There is blood all over his legs.

"I kind of did," Harry frows. "It was honestly horrible. The beginning was bearable. Fleur came out quickly and I was overjoyed. It was almost as fast as Philippa. But then we learned about Clarissa and that little lady _did not_ want to get out of me. Fuck, it feels so easy talking about it now that I feel absolutely no pain, miraculously. But it was horrible. I wouldn't wish that pain upon my worst enemy. Clarissa decided to come out the wrong way and then she had the _audacity_ to get stuck. And then she nearly killed me."

"Oh, love," Zayn says, getting off the bed and quickly walking to Harry and embracing him, not caring about getting blood on himself. "I am so incredibly sorry I wasn't here for you. They got to me only after Fleur was already born and I got here as fast as I could. They didn't let me in, no matter what I said. I never should have left today."

"You couldn't have known," Harry says, pressing his face into Zayn's neck. "I had no clue in the morning that it would be today. It came out of nowhere. If I had a feeling I would not let you leave my side."

"I just wanted to help you."

Harry pulls away, looking at Zayn and smiling. "You saved my life. And you can help me now with covering up the fact that I magically recovered in minutes after nearly dying as a result of giving birth to twins. Because trust me, _nothing_ will get past Bernadette. Moment by moment, I can feel my body remoulding itself into what it was before so we need to act quickly and under no circumstance can she do any sort of physical examination on me. By the time she would get to it, I would basically be a virgin again."

Zayn chuckles and kisses Harry's cheek. "We've won two wars, this should be easy."

"You only think that," Harry chuckles. "There is a bath drawn in the washroom. I'll get it and in the meantime, ask for the sheets to be changed. Or the whole mattress actually, there was _a lot_ of blood. Tell them that I do not want anyone to see me, except for you. No servants, no one."

"Alright," Zayn nods. "Can you get to the bad yourself or do you need my help?"

"I'll be fine," Harry smiles a little. "Get me a fresh nightgown and a robe. Then I have two little wonders that nearly cost me my life for you to meet."

They thankfully manage that whole ordeal. Zayn is horrified at the amount of blood on the bed but he needs to stop thinking about it. The most important thing is that Harry is fine now, healthy, and far from the threat of death. Before they let their children in again, Harry gets into the cleaned bed, acting his best like he wasn't running around the room trying to hide the letter from Nadežda moments ago.

Once all their children are with them on the bed, they're left alone again. Since there is no one else in the room, Harry drops the charade and sits cross-legged on the other side of the bed, almost opposite Zayn with Philippa and Cassian between them and the babies laid on the blanket in front of them, squirming and cooing.

"Papa, I told Daddy to give Fleur a French name," Philippa tells Zayn proudly.

"Aw, did you?" Zayn smiles and pulls her into his lap. "Are you happy that you have two new sisters?"

Philippa takes a moment. "I'm happy Father isn't dying anymore." When the words leave her mouth, Zayn and Harry exchange a look. One day, they will tell her everything but today isn't the one for it.

"Me too, darling, me too," Zayn says into Philippa's hair before leaving a kiss on the crown of her head. 

Upon first glance, it's obvious that Fleur and Clarissa won't be identical. Fleur has a sprinkling of blonde hair atop her head while Clarissa has a bit of dark hair. They're both tiny, much smaller than Philippa or Cassian when they were born but it's really no surprise since no one even knew that they were two of them.

Later at night, when it's completely dark, Philippa and Cassian fall asleep in their bed. Clarissa is peacefully sleeping in her crib and Fleur isn't far from sleep either as Harry walks around with her in his arms, rocking her gently.

"We should read that letter," Harry says quietly as he sits down into an armchair. "I'm curious what it says."

"Where did you put it again?" Zayn asks as gets up from his seat.

"The big trunk by the bed," Harry replies. "It's by the jewels."

"Good place, every common thief would look there first," Zayn chuckles but pulls out the letter nonetheless. "Alright, should I read it out loud?"

"Yes, please," Harry says. "But be quiet, I don't want to deal with two screaming babies right now."

"Of course," Zayn says, opening the letter. "Alright, there it is.

"_My dear Kings,_

_you have taken a difficult step that not many have. You are enslaved to Mother Nature forever, some would say. I do not believe this to be negative. It might be tough at times, but I trust that you will deal with your trials. First, you need to know some things:_

_You will not age past whatever age you are at right now. Be careful about how long you stay with one and the same life because people will notice. Leaving loved ones behind will be hard each and every time but the Mother knows why this spell only works with pairs._

_You cannot die from any illness or physical harm. However, there are expectations. You may be burned at the stake if it is done in the right away. You will die if your heart is taken from your body but no if it is only injured. You will also die from decapitation or if you are cut into pieces._

_To ease your difficult and complex extraordinary existence, you have been granted a slight gift of persuasion to help you along with your life. You will need people to forget you and this might help you. It will not work as complete control. For example, if someone asks you if you are someone they know under a different name, which _ **_is_ ** _but you cannot let them know, they will be sure it was not you if you say so. If you tell someone to jump off a bridge, they will not do it._

_You will pay a price for this. I have fuzzy suggestions about it from a reading I did but it is not clear. I know one thing only - it is somehow connected to your sons. I might be wrong but part of the payment could be having another son to repay for the wasted soul of your firstborn which was unnaturally taken from this world. It could be tied to Cassian too but I do not know how. With him, it will not be until a long time has passed._

_Fear not. Everything is as it should be. But by keeping a soul that was meant to leave still here, the balance will need to restore itself. If I ever find out about anything, I will write to you._

_Best of luck and may the light always illuminate your paths."_

"Fuck," Harry curses slowly. "I am not having any more children. But fucking hell, what if Cassian dies because of it?"

"He won't," Zayn says, leaving the letter on the table and walking to Harry. He brushes Harry's hair out of his face and holds his cheek in his palm. "Everything will be alright. We can try contacting a priest or priestess for guidance if we feel too lost. Maybe we should not do anything on purpose and let things happen as they go. Go with... whatever Mother Nature intended, I guess."

"Fine," Harry breathes out. "Fine, you're right. Let's live our lives and not worry about anything _at least_ for five years. With the war and nearly dying, I need a long holiday. But I want to go back to England first. We haven't been home in so long."

"We will," Zayn says and bends down to leave a quick kiss on Harry's lips. "First, we need to have Fleur and Clarissa christened here in Florence so the Medici don't think we are rude arseholes."

Without any prompting, Zayn takes the sleeping Fleur out of Harry's arms and puts her in her crib. She thankfully doesn't wake up at the movement.

"Shouldn't we sleep too?" Zayn asks. "It's been probably the longest day in history."

"I'm hungry," Harry says, frowning a little. "I healed nearly instantly but I'm still exhausted so I'll take sleep over food. It will be morning soon either way and I'm certain breakfast will be better than anything we could've got from the kitchen now."

They settle together in bed on the other side from Philippa and Cassian. On the rare occasion they let the children sleep with them, they were in the middle but now, Zayn and Harry just need each other.

"I love you so much," Harry whispers once they're in bed, facing one another with their limbs wrapped around together. "You're the best person I could've possibly fallen in love with."

Zayn smiles a little. "I love you even more."

"What if you regret doing this for me and you will start hating me one day?" Harry asks, his face unreadable. "Forever is a long time."

"I never signed up for any less time when we got married," Zayn says with a slight smile. "Even forever with you isn't enough."

"You could've had anyone," Harry frowns a little. "Literally anyone. You could've remarried after my death."

"I never would've remarried," Zayn shakes his head, putting his hand on Harry's cheek gently. "I don't _want_ anyone but you."

"Would you have slept with other people?" Harry asks. "I'm sure you would."

"Maybe in twenty years, if I hadn't died of grief by then," Zayn says, trying to be honest because, after so many years together, Harry knows when he's lying. "I would've remarried only if all our children somehow died and I needed someone to sit on the throne after me and I only would've done it with my Mother holding a knife to my throat, probably."

Harry chuckles a little. "I love you so much. I'm just scared you tied yourself down to something you will regret once you get bored of me."

"I could never regret anything I've done with you," Zayn replies, stroking Harry's cheekbone with his thumb. "What if you get tired of me?"

"I could never possibly get tired of your pretty face," Harry smiles. "I mean it."

"There," Zayn chuckles. "No regrets on either side. You can finally sleep now."

"I'm barely keeping my eyes open," Harry laughs quietly. "Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight, darling."

In the silence of the dark bedroom, everything seemed perfect at last. Even after their lives were nearly ruined just hours before, now all sits flawlessly in its place. They have their Kingdom. They have four brilliant children sleeping peacefully near them. And they have each other. There is nothing more they could've asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did yall really think I could kill Harry? :D I just love to torture him but I'd never go through with it lmao
> 
> What did you think about the magic bit? I've been lightly foreshadowing something bigger since the very beginning but I wasn't sure I'd go allllll the way but then I had a chat about my friend with some great scenarios about Zarry in more modern times and the deal was sealed :D
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! There will be an epilogue up soon! 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading and supporting this story :) Not many people read it, if the votes are anything to go by then mayyyybe 10 people were reading this regularly but I am infinitely grateful for every single kudos and comment and reader too, but it really helps at least clicking on that little heart because this content takes HOURS and I feel so fucking discouraged when it's just... dismissed? There is then zero motivation to continue anything. But THANK YOU so much, I really appreciate you all :) 


	10. Chapter 10

_June 1496 - Florence, Republic of Florence_

After fighting countless battles, Harry believed he has had a rather large number of near-death experiences. It was not until he was actively bleeding out on his bed, life slowly filtering out of his corporeal form that he realized he had been grossly wrong. Thinking back on it now, Harry knows he was just moments away from death. He was lying there helplessly, the children he nearly gave his life for in a different room. But he was lucky, luckier than most people because he has a husband who would do even the craziest thing possible to save his life.

"You won't be an easy one, will you?" Harry chuckles as he tries to once again tuck Clarissa's hand into her blanket. "Refusing to be tamed from the very beginning, are you?"

Clarissa coos and blinks at Harry. He gives up trying to swaddle her properly and picks her out of her crib. Technically, he's still on bed rest. If anyone saw him walking right now, they would probably call him a heretic. But he's restless, considering he has fuck all to do but spend time with Fleur and Clarissa and infants aren't much fun. He would have his hands full if he took care of them alone but of course, he doesn't. He's a King, he's never had to change out a soiled diaper. To be quite honest, he's not sure he would even know how.

"I love you so much," Harry whispers as he holds Clarissa close to his chest and kisses the top of her head. "Even if you nearly killed me. It's not your fault, baby. Thankfully, your Papa wanted me to stay with all of you for many more years and he wasn't afraid to chance making a foolish decision. I can't even imagine how miserable he would've been if I had died."

He sets Clarissa down next to Fleur on the bed and sits down in front of them.

"But I'm still here so I don't have to think about that, do I?" Harry chuckles softly and lets Fleur grab his pointer finger. "I'm going to be here and watch you grow big and strong. You're going to be so smart and kind and incredible. I'm never going _anywhere, _sweethearts, I promise you that. I never wanted to leave you. Even when I was scared when I had found out, well, about just one of you being on the way. I was miserable at times but I was happy too. That is life, isn't it? Things aren't perfect. Not always, anyway. You are my blood, my flesh, I could only be happy to have you here. You came to be out of love and not duty. That is important to remember. You _are_ my duty, some close-minded people would argue my only duty as a King, but to me, everything is a choice. And I made that choice," Harry's heart still for a brief moment when he remembers drinking from that chalice two weeks ago. "I have also made a choice that might hurt me one day."

Harry realizes that not only does he get to see his children grow up, he will also see them grow old and die. It is aeons away now but he already knows how much it will hurt, seeing the children he brought into this world, seeing the children he bled and nearly died for, grow weathered with age and eventually leave this world for good, while Harry will be stuck in time, never getting older. He wants to doubt Nadežda's spell but he has seen enough magic in his life not to doubt it. 

"I'm going to cherish every second with you, my darlings," Harry says quietly and kisses Fleur and then Clarissa. "With Philippa and Cassian too. Time is relentless and unforgiving and before I know it, you're all grown up living your own life. God knows how quickly the last few years have passed. Philippa was just a little girl running around, learning how to speak and now she's learning how to be a Queen. Unfortunately, with how things have changed, she will have to ascend to the throne much earlier than she would've normally. Papa and I will tell you everything one day. We won't leave you so soon. We will find a way."

Harry moves the babies up the bed and lies down too, figuring that soon enough someone's going to come check up on him. He lies on his side and watches the girls squirm around, cooing from time to time. He's so happy to be able to do this. Before Zayn brought in Nadežda, Harry was convinced he was going to die before he even got to hold Clarissa. Fleur was in his arms just for a short moment too. Now he's healthy and he can be with his children as much as he likes.

Fleur starts fussing around and within moments she starts crying.

"Oh, darling," Harry frowns and picks her up, sitting up in the bed and rocking her against his chest. "Don't cry, it's alright. Are you hungry? You were fed not that long ago. Are you tired, is that it?"

Of course, at barely two weeks of age, Fleur doesn't answer him. But she does fall asleep on Harry's chest a short moment later and that's a response enough.

The door opens then and Harry expects one of the wetnurses or someone but it's Philippa coming into the room.

"Hello, Father," she asks quietly, seeing that the babies are both asleep. "Can I come in?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Harry smiles at her. "Come on in. You can sit on the other side of the bed, but be careful so you don't wake Clarissa."

Philippa joins them on the bed, being very careful as she climbs up on it.

"Daddy?" Philippa asks, her face a little sad.

"What is it, baby?" Harry asks her, frowning now. "Are you alright?"

"I am," Philippa nods a little. "I came from my lessons and I was told I would need to marry if I want to be the Queen or else Cassian would be the ruler because he's a boy."

"What?" Harry squawks, before quickly realising that he has two sleeping babies in the room. "Who told you that, Philippa? That is false, completely false. Before your brother was born, we issued a new decree that is _law_ and cannot be broken, that no matter if you're a girl or a boy, if you're the firstborn, you will be on the throne. You will be the Queen, darling, after Papa and I are gone, no matter what. You could have twenty brothers and you would still be the Queen. You don't need to marry anyone either. There is no rule about it. Who told you such nonsense?"

"Messer Ignacio," Philippa replies. "He said that he thinks it's useless for a woman to learn about being a ruler but that you and Papa are paying him a lot so he has to teach me."

"Oh God," Harry scoffs. "That old bastard. You will not see him again, honey, don't worry about it. Was _he_ ever a ruler? No. Don't listen to such drivel. You will have better teachers when we are back in England."

"I want Grandma Melisende to teach me about being a Queen," Philippa says. "She was a Queen, wasn't she?"

Harry smiles, silently proud of how smart his daughter is. "Yes, she was. She technically still is because your Papa, her son, is the King now. But I think she would be _very_ happy to teach you. She's smarter than all these teachers either way. And I do believe Aunt Helen would gladly give you some sword-fighting lessons. She's one of the best fighters I've ever raised a sword against."

"Thank you," Philippa smiles, her face lighting up. "When did you start learning how to be a ruler, Father?"

"Well," Harry sighs. "I was quite young. My Father died when I was around ten years old. But it was only after your Papa's Father died in the war that your Grandma made me learn about politics and train to fight in the war. I think I was twelve. But as a part of any regular education, I started with the general things your brother is learning when I was maybe six. You started learning things a bit earlier but it was only because you wanted to do."

"Did I?" Philippa frowns a little. "I don't remember it."

"Yes, you did," Harry smiles and reaches over with one hand to brush her hair out of her face. "One evening when I was reading you a story you said you want to know how to do it yourself because you always see Papa and I reading and you wanted to know how. That's why I got you a teacher when you were four. Then I got you some more because I was _maybe_ a little too excited about how smart you were."

"Oh, alright," Philippa nods. "Father?"

"Yes?"

"How are babies made?" Philippa asks with a completely innocent face, ready to learn more as she always does when she bombards her parents with questions her teachers won't answer.

"Oh, darling," Harry laughs softly. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes," Philippa looks at him as if he's fallen out of a tree. "I would not have asked otherwise."

"Alright," Harry breathes in deeply, trying to come up with a way how to tell his eight-year-old daughter a child-appropriate story of procreation. "See, when two people love each other very much, sometimes they... do things and they make a baby. Then the baby is growing a belly for nine months and then it comes out. But it's only for grown-ups, sweetheart."

"I had biology lessons, Father," Philippa frowns a little. "Girls and boys are different so how do they make a baby? You and Papa are both boys. How does it work?"

Harry sighs deeply. "Dear Lord, Philippa. You're too smart for your age. Yes, girls and boys are _different_ and because they are different they can make a baby with their... different parts. And some boys, like me, can also have babies. I _promise_ I will explain it to you once you are older."

"It's fine," Philippa shrugs. "I will ask Grandma once we are home."

Harry raises his brows but he doesn't say anything. Frankly, he's amused. And pretty sure that Melisende will explain the circle of life better to Philippa than he could ever.

"I don't want babies, anyway," Philippa continues as she plays some made-up game with her own fingers "It's scary and dangerous. I was just curious. I want to knows things, I don't want to be clueless. I saw how Clarissa was born and it was so bloody. And you were in pain, Daddy. I don't want to go through that. I would rather lose a fight and have a cool scar on my face."

Harry can't help but laugh. "It's your decision, darling. But you don't have to be scared, it's natural. It hurts, yes, but when you were born, it was really easy, actually. It's not always as hard as what you saw. There were two babies then and it's not very common."

"Perhaps," Philippa lets on. "But I will have to rule a Kingdom, I don't want to risk it."

"It seems like you're already smarter than your Papa and I," Harry laughs a little. The smile quickly drops from his face, however. "Do you _want_ to rule, Philippa? Or do you feel like you have to?"

Philippa looks at Harry, her face open and honest. "I want to. I think it's really exciting. You and Papa fought all these wars and you're always meeting people and travelling. I want to be a good Queen, like you two are. I want to take care of our people, protect them from wars and poverty and famine. I can see that both you and Papa care about England a lot. You also care about each other. And you care about me and Cassian. The babies too now. My friends say they never spend much time with their parents but we do. When those bad men took us, you found us. Cassian was crying so much but I knew you would come for us. I was telling him all the time that Papa and Daddy will find us."

Harry bites the inside of his cheek because tears are threatening to spill out of his eyes. "I love you so, so much, Philippa," Harry whispers and carefully leans over to Philippa and kisses her face multiple times. "You are such a special girl. I'm so proud of you. You're gonna be a wonderful Queen one day. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy," Philippa says and clumsily hugs Harry over the babies. "I just want to be like you and Papa. And Grandmother too because people listen to her more than to you two."

Harry chuckles wetly. "Yes, they do. She can be scary, right?"

"Not really," Philippa muses.

"Well, I _was_ scared of her when I first married your Papa," Harry says. "But that's a very long story for another day. Do you want some lunch? We can let the babies sleep and have the servants bring us lunch here."

"Alright," Philippa agrees easily.

Harry gets out of the bed with Fleur still sleeping peacefully against his chest and tucks her into her crib. Philippa, being possibly the best person ever born, carefully hands Harry Clarissa from the bed. He puts her into her own crib and gets back to bed.

"Can we read for a bit together first?" Philippa asks.

"Of course," Harry gives her a smile and invites Philippe to lay down next to him. She joins his, tucking herself into his side and Harry hugs her with one arm, holding the book open in front of them with his other hand.

From the very first moment she was born, in the middle of a battle, Harry knew that Philippa was special. With each and every day, she continues to prove it and honestly, Harry can't wait to watch her rule and flourish even more.

xxx

The following week, Harry and Zayn plan to sneak out of the Medici Palazzo in the middle of the night. It's both because Harry is being driven stir crazy thanks to Bernadette and her bed rest rule, and to see how the preparations for the christening of Fleur and Clarissa are going.

Harry was napping with the girls dozing off on his chest, an arm wrapped protectively underneath their bums when Zayn woke him up in the middle of the night, already dressed in his black cloak. They got a wetnurse to watch the babies, coming up with the story about how Bernadette is being too careful with everything and that Harry feels fine now to leave for a little while, but in secret so he doesn't piss off Bernadette. Honestly, it would only end up in her imposing even stricter bed rest on him and worst-case scenario, she would want to do a physical examination to see if he's fine. She would be rather shocked to see that there is not a single trace on his body of the event that nearly took his life.

"Do you think we could get some wine somewhere?" Harry asks Zayn as they walk through the dark streets of Florence, sneaking around like that one time on their first visit to the city. "Bernadette doesn't let me have any, she says it could make me bleed again. She's not wrong, if I was at risk of that. But I'm healthier than I've ever been."

"I wouldn't risk going to a tavern," Zayn replies. "They would certainly recognize us. I could ask for some and if she sees, I'll say it was just mine."

"There would be two cups then," Harry says.

"Then we'll drink from one," Zayn rolls his eyes with a smile. "Are you too prudish to exchange spit with me, Virgin Mary?"

"We've exchanged way more than just spit before," Harry laughs. "I hope I don't go to hell for this but how awful was that to her? God just making her pregnant out of nowhere. How is that fair? The least he could've done was like, come down to Earth and properly sleep with her."

"Isn't fucking a sin?" Zayn muses. "Unless it's with the intent to conceive a child? Or is it still sin? I will admit that I have been slacking on the Bible study during my entire youth. My Mother isn't particularly religious, apart from the bit where the King is anointed by God. In that case, God is her best friend and of fucking course he would pick her son."

"We're going to hell then," Harry declares and then sighs. "Ever since... you know, I have been thinking about just how life works. We are literally fucking immortal. Do we need to adhere to any religion? Is it even real? I have not seen a single miracle performed by God or an angel but I have seen a good deal of magic in my life. Magic that is based on ancient religion that the church views as evil. So what is the truth?"

"This would get you beheaded, my love, if someone heard," Zayn chuckles a little. "I understand what you mean. I have been thinking about the same thing. We may never see what happens after death."

Harry doesn't reply. Both because it hurts to think about this particular topic a bit too much and because they're nearing the Duomo. Lorenzo gave them a key he has for his personal use and they get in through a side door that opens directly to the stairs to the cupola. They're not here to climb all those steps tonight. Maybe one day, but not tonight. They walk into the main part of the cathedral, seeing its massive interior illuminated only by a few torches. They've been inside many times but never in such darkness.

They come to stand underneath the dome, just a few meters in front of the altar. The walls of the dome are bare, disturbingly so.

"They should paint something on the inside of the dome," Zayn notes offhandedly as he looks up. "Maybe we could commission some young artist with it as a gift of gratitude to the Medicis."

"Would they let outsiders mess with their city like that?" Harry asks. "But perhaps if we asked Sandro and he recommended someone from Florence. We could ask Lorenzo about it. Perhaps he would like the idea and show off his power even more."

"It's possible," Zayn agrees. "God, I wish we were home already."

"Soon, my love," Harry says and wraps himself around Zayn's back, nuzzling his face into his neck. "Should we go to the baptistery now?"

"We could, yes."

They detangle from one another, only to let their hands link together as they leave the Duomo and walk its length to the baptistery. The baptistery looks even more magnificent than the cathedral. The ceiling is covered in the gold mosaic and it's truly breathtaking.

"This is beautiful," Harry breathes out, his head tilted back as he observes the beauty of the domed ceiling. "I can't wait to see it in daylight."

"I've heard the cathedral in Venice looks like this," Zayn says as he wraps an arm around Harry's waist. "We could go see it one day. We have more than enough time."

Harry lets his head fall back down, his face dropping. He tries not to think about their limitless life but at times, he is faces with these unescapable instances.

"You know," Harry says, looking down at the floor. "I have been saying that I nearly lost my life but I _have_ lost my life." He turns his head to Zayn, who is watching him intently. "We _both_ have, Zayn. Our lives were meant to end in a few decades. We were meant to rule, grow old together, have grandchildren and then die, like anybody else. Now we are faced with this eternal existence that seemingly doesn't have an end. It doesn't have an end if we are careful enough, lucky enough. Please, do no think that I am blaming you." Harry puts a hand on Zayn's cheek. "I will forever be grateful that you saved my life, that you gave me the chance to see our children grow up. But now, we will both not only see them grow up but also die. It will be hard, it will be so hard but we cannot lose each other. We need to stick together. I know that forever is a very long time and I do not ask that of you, if you do not wish so. But we will need each other. We have already lost one child that didn't even get to live properly and we both remember how it hurt. We need to accept this new life together."

What Harry doesn't expect is Zayn grabbing his cheek gently and leaning in for a kiss. And of course, Harry never protests a kiss from the love of his life. Their lips move together in unison, a perfect dance and it sparks up feelings in Harry that were dormant for the couple of last months. 

Zayn pulls away a little, their foreheads pressed together. "I've already accepted it. The moment Nadežda told me she could save your life and how she would do it, I accepted it. I know that one day, we will have to see our children grow old and pass away but we can get through it together, love. It will be at a point where they have all lived long and happy lives, and even if we will go on living, at least we will live with the knowledge that their lives were fulfilled. I will bear that pain because no pain could challenge the pain I would've felt if you had died."

"I love you," Harry whispers and kisses Zayn again vigorously. "I love you so fucking much," he gasps out between kisses, pushing their bodies together. "You're the love of my life, Zayn. You're my soul, my destiny."

"I'm so in love with you," Zayn whispers into Harry's lips in a short break for air as they kiss. "I would kill an army myself with a single sword before letting you die."

"I want to make love," Harry whispers, kissing up Zayn's cheek and neck. "It has been too long. Months and months without touching you properly. I've missed you so much. It was torture not being able to make love to you, not even _wanting_ to because I felt weak and horrible."

"We can't do it here," Zayn chuckles softly and kisses Harry's cheekbone. "Wait a little while until we are back."

"Back in England?" Harry exclaims.

"No, you fool," Zayn laughs. "Back in the Palazzo. Where there are beds. Or would you rather do in here on the marble or on the hard pews in plain view of the altar?"

"Alright," Harry chuckles and kisses Zayn again. "We have waited long enough, a couple more minutes is nothing."

xxx

It's July when they finally return back to England. Smelling the humid, sea-heavy air again makes them more homesick than ever. But at last, they are home.

They arrive to Windsor around midday. Philippa and Cassian are restless, finally wanting to see Grandmother and frankly, Possie. When the carriage stops in front of the main entrance, they run out towards the welcome committee without a second thought.

"We're home," Harry says, sighing a little, looking over at the tall walls of Windsor castle. "I didn't think I would get to see this place again."

"We are home now," Zayn says and when Harry turns his head to him, he finds him watching him with a small smile. "Are you ready for peace again?"

"More than ever," Harry smiles and takes Zayn's hand and they leave the carriage together.

A rather small group of people is waiting for them, considering everything. They wanted to keep their return low-key until the official celebrations. A war was won after all. The people have missed their Kings. But now it's just a couple of their closest friends from court.

Melisende is crouching down and swarmed with hugs from Philippa and Cassian. Helen is standing near her with a gentle smile on her lips. There are a few people missing, like Frederick who has stayed over in France to 'help' Agnes with governing the territory and may or may not be planning to ask for her hand in marriage, even as she vehemently protests yet continues to sneak around with him. But it's enough for now.

"Finally, I can go on holiday," Melisende says as she stands up. "Have you boys finished playing war and are ready to take care of your Kingdom again?"

"Yes, we are done, Mother," Zayn laughs and hugs her. "We've all missed you. Of course, we are very much grateful for taking care of the Kingdom while we were gone."

"It would've been fun ten years ago," Melisende scoffs as she pulls away and brings in Harry for a hug. "How are you, dear? These crazy Italians sent me a letter that you were dying. Then, the following day, a different rider brings another one that you are completely fine."

"Oh, yes," Harry clears his throat awkwardly, pulling from the embrace. "They were exaggerating. I was bleeding for a while and they all tried to bury me already. I guess I'm at fault too because I was being dramatic and telling everyone I was dying. Thankfully, Zayn saved me from those thoughts and I'm more than alright."

They exchange a look and a secretive smile. They will tell Melisende one day but with her skepticism, it might take a lot of wine and persuation.

Helen hugs them so hard Harry nearly feels his ribs shifting. She was in France for a little while because she brought Philippa and Cassian over to them but it has been a long time since they've seen each other.

"I'm getting married in fall," Helen tells him with a smile. "She finally got through to me."

"Oh, I am so happy for you," Harry sighs and hugs her again. 

Just at that, the babies wetnurses bring Fleur and Clarissa to them and they're all the talk from then on. Everyone groups around and tries to guess who looks like who more and so on and so on. It's quite entertaining to watch.

But then Harry notices a familiar figure standing by the entrance door. He looks over after glancing at familiar long, blonde hair and sees his Mother standing there, away from anyone, looking at him. When their eyes meet, she gives him a small uncertain smile. Harry's heart misses a beat before he quickly comes over to her and hugs her as hard as he can.

With all the hardships Julianna has brought into his life, all of it was done with only her best intentions. She can't be help accountable for the actions of other people or the results of things she did in good will. Harry has long forgiven her becase she is his Mother, he loves her and despite all the bad things, they have happy memories together as well.

"I have missed you so much," Harry says quietly into her shoulder. "I didn't think you would come back."

"Oh, my darling, of course I would," Julianna says and rubs Harry's back. "I have already missed so much time with you for foolishness. I am getting older with each day and I don't want you to remember me as the woman who brought the man who nearly killed you into your life. I want my grandchildren to remember me once I'm gone. I want them to know me, not only from stories. I love you and I am sorry for everything that I have done to you. I am sorry for not being there for you when you needed me. I will never make those mistakes again."

"I am happy you're back," Harry says sincerely when he pulls away, their hands still linked together. "I have already forgiven you, Mother. I just wanted you here, no matter the past. I know now that you never meant to harm me."

Julianna searches his face for a while before lifting her right hand and cupping Harry's cheek. "You have changed. I can see that you are a different man than you were before you left."

"I am," Harry agrees. "A lot has happened. A lot has changed. I will tell you about it soon and you might not believe me, but I am hoping you will."

"You are a good man, Harry," Julianna smiles at him, caressing his cheekbone. "All I ever wanted for you is to be good and happy. As long as you have that, I could not wish for anything else."

"Are you happy, Mother?" Harry asks, squeezing her hand gently.

"I am now," Julianna smiles lightly. "I will do better than before."

Harry just smiles a little. "I believe I have two more granddaughters for you to meet."

He gets a servant to bring him Fleur and Clarissa too a moment later. Harry lets Julianna gold Fleur, who's watching everything with wide blue eyes that seem like they contain whole universe.

"I think Fleur will have your hair," Harry chuckles as he takes Clarissa from the servant. "Either way, they're both beautiful. Absolutely lovely."

"That they are," Julianna laughs and gently plays with Fleur's fingers. "But you were blonde when you were little and look at you know. The one thing you inherited from your late Father was the hair."

This is a moment Harry thought he would never get again - simply showing his children to his Mother and there being no tension in the air about the first baby that never got to live. He didn't think he would ever see his Mother smile at her grandchild without tears threatening to break. But there she is, having forgiven herself for the crimes of another man. Happy, with her family where she belongs.

As he watches Julianna talk to Fleur in a baby voice, he feels something by his legs. When Harry looks down, he sees none other than Possie, rubbing herself against Harry's shin.

"Oh my god, Possie," Harry gasps out and immediately squats down, adjusting Clarissa so he can pet Possie with one hand. Possie purrs so, so loudly and buts her hand against Harry's hand. He honestly feared that she would forget them all but he was truly underestimating her.

He truly couldn't have asked for a better reunion.

xxx

Later that night, they're finally in their bedroom alone. They're truly home now, as they can lie down in their own bed that has seen fights, laughter, love and much more. The day with their families and friends was incredible but as any other day, Harry and Zayn are happy to just be alone, together at the end of the night.

"Do you think we will get at least a semblance of peace now?" Harry sighs as he undresses. "Can we just sit on our thrones and rule without anything getting in the way?"

"The life of a King is never truly peaceful," Zayn says as he kisses Harry's neck from behind. "Our reign will not be easy, no reign is. However, I think that as long as we manage to end our reign without any more wars, we will be alright."

"I fear that we will leave Philippa with a crumbling Kingdom and a war on the brink of eruption," Harry sighs and puts his hands above Zayn's on his stomach. "We are leaving her the burden of the Crown, I want to make it as easy for her as possible."

"Philippa is smarter and stronger than both of us," Zayn mumbles into Harry's skin. "She could handle this war we just fought and she was just a child. Trust me, she will be fine. Besides, we will not be truly gone."

"I know," Harry breathes out. "I think she will hate us for a while, for lying to her. For leaving so soon. She might not speak to us."

"I'm sure of that," Zayn chuckles softly. "She will get over it, though. She is stubborn but she is smart too. We will be here to help but I do not think she will need our help. Perhaps with menial things such as asking about a lover or how to train a cat. Never with her reign."

Harry smiles. "She's going to be incredible."

"She is," Zayn says. "May the rest of our lives be too."

xxx

_Present Day_

"Today, on another episode of _The Interesting Lives of English Kings and Queens_, we will be taking a closer look at legends of English history and famously the most successful pair to ever rule over the British Isles, King Zayn I and King Harry I. Reiging from 1485 to 1515, England enjoyed three prosperous decades before their eldest daughter took over the throne and became Philippa I, starting another iconic reign that would end with her untimely death."

The TV presenter is walking around the courtyard of Windsor Castle, while dramatic music plays in the background. Then its cuts to footage of him walking through a street in York.

"They started off as enemies, destined to kill each other since the very moment they were born," the presenter says while standing in front of an old pub. "The wars of the roses raged for generations, the white rose fighting against the red rose, up until it changed with Harry and Zayn and it all started one fateful January night in this very pub, which now fittingly bears the name _Pink Rose_. The love story that has inspired countless legends, books, films and TV series started right here in York, when the two young men met unexpectedly and fell in love at first sight."

"Okay, _that's_ bullshit, I wanted to kill you."

"Yeah, sure, and then twenty minutes later you went and fucked me."

"Shut up and watch. You put this crap on."

"Their love grew and flourished in York and then they continued their illicit affair with love letters, only one of which has been found. Fighting against their families, each one with their different goals, they didn't give up even as the date of the day when they were meant to face each other on the battlefield inched closer and closer."

The scene shifts to a field, the presenter standing in the middle of it. Fake sounds of a battle are soundtracking the footage.

"Right here, in near a small town called Market Bosworth, on May 22nd 1485, the Battle of Bosworth took place. Red rose against white rose. Lover against lover. But they were smarter than their feuding families. Historians argue that in their letters, they schemed together to stop the war. Neither Zayn nor Harry were hurt in the battle. They did face each other, raised their swords on one another but not a single bruise was inflicted by them. Later that night, they both ran away from their armies, their families. Together."

"No shit, historians aren't complete dickheads."

"Right? Who else would we run away with?"

The scene then shifts to an old abbey, the footage also cutting between images of the sea nearby.

"The following day, not yet Kings, Zayn and Harry arrived here, in Binham Abbey, where they were wed in secrecy by then Abbot Dominic. What they did was so bold and brave, no such thing has been done since by Kings or Queen in our history. With the simple oath of marriage and promise of love, two eighteen-year-old Princes ended a decades-long war that has costs thousands in both lives and pounds. Their love was stronger than iron and blood, stronger than two armies, stronger than their very inluential Mothers and the power-hungry Lord Warwick."

"We didn't realize at the time that our lives were _literally_ a soap opera."

"I'm glad that Warwick is remembered for what he was - an utter cunt."

The present appears in Windsor again in the next cut. He is holding a white and red rose in his hand.

"Without doubts, they are the most interesting Kings that have ever ruled over England. They ended the Wars of the Roses. They inherited half of France, fought a war to keep it and won. Their bloodline managed to keep on for centuries, the current Queen being their direct descendant and still bearing the name they re-established with the birth of their daughter Philippa in 1488 - Plantagenet. Many quiestions remain even now that historians have been mulling over for at least decades. Was their marriage secretly orchestrated, causing this whole love story to be a sham?"

"As if, your mom nearly killed me."

"I've lived with you since before fucking America was discovered, if this was fake I would've poisoned you after our second kid."

"Why second?"

"An heir and a spare, duh."

The presenter continues, now inside the Great Hall in Windsor Castle.

"What about their curious friendship with the Medici family and other Florentians?"

"Uh... Florence was a cool place to be in and the Medicis were our mates?"

"Imagine having friends, can't relate."

The presenter now stands in front of multiple portraits of them and their children.

"Who were the Kings that perhaps saved England from ruin? Why were their minds so set on Philippa becoming Queen? What about the dark history of their first unborn son, poison and Lord Warwick? Was Queen Julianna involved? Were they truly faithfull to each other all thirty years of their marriage? Who was Lucrezia d'Medici then? We will try to answer these and many more questions on this episode. Join us as we follow the steps of the peace-preaching Kings that changed the course of English, and world history. From their youth to their untimely death in 1515, with just months between their deaths. This is _The Interesting Lives of English Kings and Queens._"

"God, what a load of bullshit. I'm turning this off."

"What do the historians even _do?_ We've made it so fucking easy for them so they don't spread any bloody rumours about us."

"I don't know but I'm not gonna listen to them talk shit about us for an hour. Imagine if they made these fucking shows with the consideration that the people who it is about would watch it. It's like... bloody Daily Mail but historical and the dead people can't sue you for defamation of character."

"Remember that one documentary about Philippa? How they said she had syphilis?"

"Don't even remind me. What a load of shit."

"You know what's gonna be really fucking funny? When they go excavate our bones one day and they're not gonna find shit in the tombs."

"Oh, yeah. That's a conspiracy I'm gonna join in on. My take is that we faked our deaths, which is true, but then we lived out the rest of our days in a whore house in Florence, since they love to complain about our visits there so much."

"Good one, babe. You wanna go see a film tonight?"

"Yeah, but nothing dumb. I sacrificed enough brain cells for today watching this crap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so here we are at the end of another GIOD book! I hope you enjoyed reading The Decorum of Warfare as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> IMPORTANT: There are gonna be little stories of Zarry's lives during the centuries, mainly present times and there will be a THIRD FIC which will take place when Philippa is a teenager and having her own teenage problems while her dads are your regular "ok boomer" dads but cooler and nicer :D
> 
> THANK YOU so much for reading this story and thank you for all the kudos and comments. Until next time! 
> 
> In the meantime, don't forget to check out my other fics if this is your first/second fic of mine you've read :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please do leave some feedback so I know that at least someone's reading it :)


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